


If You Hurt Me, That's Okay, Baby

by blue_jack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, BDSM, Bottom!Cas, Cock Cages, Crying, Embedded Images, Exhibitionism, M/M, NSFW Art, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Milking, Sex Worker Castiel, Spanking, Voyeurism, dom!Dean, sub!cas, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“$1,000 isn’t enough money,” Castiel said, pulling the sheet closer to him, scanning the rows of numbers. “Please,” he said, and some of the worry and stress he was feeling must have been reflected on his face, because her expression softened. “Isn’t there another contract I can do?” </p><p>She fidgeted with the folder. “I do have . . . one option."</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Hurt Me, That's Okay, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> First, I wanted to thank the absolutely lovely beestiels for her amazing art. Just, wow, guys. Wow. Please make sure to take a look at the pieces she created and let her know how incredible they are [here](http://beestiels.tumblr.com/post/133107678203/my-first-ever-dcbb-masterpost-this-is-the-art-i). Seriously, I don’t have the words to do them justice. I am also going to try to embed them in the fic, so be warned. NSFW pics.
> 
> Second, many, many thanks to kahn for all her help and encouragement. You were incredibly sweet to volunteer to beta this monster, thank you. 
> 
> Third, I want to warn people that I’ve never been in a bdsm relationship, and furthermore, there’s obviously an unhealthy dynamic here due to the money exchange, no matter how kind Dean tries to be, so please realize this fic is meant for entertainment purposes only and not meant to depict real life.
> 
> Finally, the title is from the song “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran.

“Hello, Castiel. I’m so glad you could come in today,” Mrs. Dunham said as they shook hands.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he replied automatically.

“Of course. Please, have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of her desk. 

He chose the one closest to him and sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

“Now, there’s no reason to be nervous,” she said, smiling in what she no doubt thought was a reassuring manner. Castiel wondered if he were being that obvious, or if everyone who came in needed to be told the same thing. “Here at Lordis, we do our utmost to match you with compatible Buyers, people who will not only abide by the letter of their contracts but the heart of them as well. There’s a reason we have the highest referral rating from both Buyers and Sellers of any matchmaking company in the country and why our motto is ‘a match made in heaven.’”

“I am aware,” he said, preferring not to go over the company spiel again. He’d heard it in many of its various iterations in the past month as he researched which matchmaking service to approach. 

“Good, then you must know that it is in our best interests to represent _your_ best interests,” she said, and he nodded. Lordis had a reputation of being extremely diligent about vetting Buyers and taking care of their Sellers, which was why so many Sellers continued to do business with them. And as a result of its large selection of happy Sellers, the Buyers came back as well, so Castiel did indeed realize that what Mrs. Dunham was telling him was the truth.

“So then, as I said, there’s no reason to be nervous. We’ll take care of you,” Mrs. Dunham assured him, and he made a noncommittal sound. If he hadn’t managed to completely reconcile himself to what he was doing in the month he’d been considering becoming a Seller, she wasn’t going to convince him in two minutes.

She seemed to understand, because she sighed and rather than continuing in the same vein, she opened his folder. “So here are the rates for a two-week contract, which is the minimum length of time we allow. Since you’ve already agreed to oral and anal sex, both receiving and giving, that brings your rate to—”

“$1,000 isn’t enough money,” he said, pulling the sheet closer to him, scanning the rows of numbers.

She frowned. “According to the forms you signed, you were only interested in meeting with your Buyer once a day, and you preferred not to spend the night. If you want to change—”

“Even $4,400 isn’t enough,” he said, tapping his finger on the last rate, which involved living with the Buyer the entire two weeks with a maximum of sex three times a day. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, so he’d signed up for the least demanding option, but he obviously needed to revise his plan.

“Castiel,” she said, placing one hand on top of the other, “as I am sure you were told, becoming a Seller is not a ‘get-rich-quick’ scheme. The rate we charge is regulated by the government and is the same across the nation; we can’t change it. Now, we do encourage our Buyers to tip at the end of a contract, but since this is your first time, he or she will likely not give more than—”

“When I was researching online, I saw rates as high as $10,000,” he said, the paper crackling in his hands as his fists tightened. He’d been hoping to pay off Anna’s hospital and physical therapy bills before graduate school started in the fall, and while $4,400 for each month would help toward the seventy thousand dollar total, it wouldn’t be enough, not with having to save some money for school. Even on the payment plan the hospital had offered, the drain to his paycheck was severe, and it’d just get worse when he stopped working full-time. The situation wasn’t desperate yet, but it could turn that way all too quickly. 

“Well, it depends on the circumstances. Longer contracts do bring in higher rates—”

“So let’s do that,” he said. “I can sign for two-and-a-half months.”

“While that may be,” she said, looking at him sympathetically, “first-time Sellers are only allowed to sign a two-week contract in order to make sure you’re comfortable with everything and that your Buyer is pleased with your services. As it is, it might take a while to find a good match for you, and then after your initial contract, we have a month-long waiting period before we’ll find another Buyer—”

“I can’t wait that long!” he said, leaning forward. A month-long break? That would reduce his earning time to only one and a half months! This had been his last resort. The driver who had hit Anna hadn’t had insurance, but Castiel had lied and told her he did in order to keep her from worrying. Anna, unfortunately, hadn’t had insurance either since she’d been transitioning between jobs and had decided against kept her benefits up since she was only going to take three weeks off before starting in her new position. She hadn’t thought it’d be worth paying the high premiums to maintain her insurance for three weeks.

Anna had done her best to take of him after their parents died when he was twelve, and he’d just wanted to return the favor. Maybe it was foolish of him, but he didn’t want to saddle her with all of this debt on top of her injuries.

“Please,” he said, and some of the worry and stress he was feeling must have been reflected on his face, because her expression softened even further. “Isn’t there another contract I can do?”

She fidgeted with the folder. “I do have . . . one contract. It would pay significantly more, and it still falls within the allowed time period.”

“How much more?”

“$7,000, with a guaranteed tip of $1,000 if you make it to the end of the contract, and an option for renewal.”

“I’ll take it,” he said immediately. It still wasn’t perfect, but it was almost twice the previous amount.

“There are a few things you should know before agreeing,” Mrs. Dunham said, her tone of voice making him wary. “First, this is a BDSM contract, which you did not mark as being interested in, but you are always free to make whatever changes to your paperwork you deem fit. Second, the Buyer has requested final say, so there will be an interview in which you will go to the Buyer’s house with a Lordis representative and perform a small service. You will be reimbursed for the cost of travel and compensated for your time. Third, this is a full-time contract, which means you will be living with the Buyer at his house and be available to him at all times—although he cannot expect sexual services from you more than three times a day. He can, however, request that you dress a certain way or act in a specific manner. Finally, if you are chosen by the Buyer, you will not be allowed to leave his house unless he explicitly gives you permission. If your contract is renewed, that clause will be taken out, but the Buyer feels this period is important for the two of you to get to know each other without too many outside distractions. You will still have your weekly Lordis meeting, however, and you are allowed to use the phone, although he will expect you to keep that to a minimum. Do you have any questions?”

“I—yes,” he said, his thoughts whirling. “When you say BDSM, how extreme is the Buyer . . . what kind of things would he . . .?”

“As far as I understand, he is mainly interested in orgasm control, humiliation, and a little pain play. He would discuss his expectations in greater detail with you if you’re selected.”

Castiel swallowed. “And when would the interview take place?”

“Thursday or Friday. We’ve already scheduled three other Sellers.”

His brows furrowed at the thought of competition. It was a lot of information to take in, and he wasn’t quite certain if he wanted the contract after all—but he certainly didn’t want someone else to take it from him.

“And does interviewing mean I have to accept the contract if the Buyer picks me?” he asked cautiously.

“Not at all,” she said and patted the folder. “I know you had a lot of paperwork to go over today—don’t worry, we’ll send you home with a copy of everything—but company policy is that you can walk away from any Buyer until you sign the contract. We don’t penalize you for having your own preferences. That being said, if three months go by without you agreeing to anyone, we’ll set up a meeting to discuss what else you might be looking for, and if six months go by, we’ll assume you’re no longer interested in being a Seller with Lordis, and we’ll retire your account.”

“Alright.” $7,000. $8,000 with the tip. He could pay off a large chunk of Anna’s bills in a few months, could—

“Wait, one more question,” Castiel said. “If the Buyer asks to renew, is there still that month-long waiting period?”

“Yes, there is. We always require a few days at minimum between contracts, but after the first one especially, we’ve found that the break is extremely important. We value our Sellers, and we don’t want to ignore their mental health. Many people need that time to decide if they would like to continue. It’s not for everyone, although many find it quite rewarding,” she said, and something in her voice made him suspect she had been a Seller before she joined Lordis as an employee, "whether they decide to sell their services a few times or many. That being said, the rates do go up with a renewal, and Buyers are expected to give gifts to Sellers they’ve seen more than once.”

It still wasn’t a complete solution, but that much money would give him time and peace of mind. He would just have to be careful about the terms they negotiated. Even if he didn’t last the entire two weeks, as long as it was the Buyer who broke the contract and not him, he’d still get the entire $7,000. It was more than he made in two months right now. It’d be worth a little discomfort.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and she smiled. 

“Wonderful. Now let’s change your paperwork.”

\-----

The Buyer lived almost forty miles outside the city on several acres of land. Standing in his driveway, Castiel couldn’t see his nearest neighbor or hear any signs of human life, not even from the road he’d driven in on. That was a concern.

While he knew that Lordis had performed an extensive background check on the Buyer, he also knew that many things could be hidden from the public eye, especially if the Buyer was well-to-do—as he surely must be if he were looking for a long-term contract. Castiel didn’t like the idea of having no one to turn to if he needed help.

He glanced at his car and then back at the house. $7,000 though. He took a deep breath. He’d just have to trust his instincts. This meeting was an opportunity for the both of them to get to know each other, and if he detected anything unsavory about the Buyer, Castiel would leave. It would make life that much harder for him and Anna if he got hurt, money or not, so he just wouldn’t sign if he thought it’d be dangerous.

The thought didn’t give him much comfort since how well could a person really get to know someone else in an hour, but he made his way to the front door nonetheless. It’d taken longer than he’d expected to get to the Buyer’s property, and while he’d left early for just that reason, he couldn’t afford to just stand there anymore. It wouldn’t do to be late.

He rang the doorbell and waited, smoothing down his clothes. He hadn’t been sure what to wear to a meeting like this, so he’d come in a suit and tie, deciding it couldn’t hurt to be professional, even if he’d be taking some—if not all—of his clothes off eventually. He probably should’ve left his coat in the car, he realized belatedly, but it’d been raining in the city, and he’d been too distracted to think about it when he’d parked.

He straightened when the door opened and tried to paste on an expression of attentiveness without seeming too eager. It wasn’t the Buyer in the doorway, however, but Uriel, a colleague of Mrs. Dunham’s who she’d introduced at the end of Castiel’s appointment so that he’d know who to expect at the interview.

“Seller,” Uriel said, nodding his head. Both Castiel and the Buyer would be referred to by their titles until they agreed to sign the contract. “The Buyer is waiting for you inside.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said and stepped into the entryway. He waited for Uriel to lead the way and looked around quickly at the rooms they passed, taking in the carefully arranged decorations and the tasteful landscapes that hung on the walls. It looked like a home straight from an _Architectural Digest_ magazine, and he felt distinctly out of place. 

Still, it didn’t seem like he’d have to worry about the Buyer not paying.

Uriel stopped in front of what Castiel assumed was a den or sitting room, book-filled shelves lining an entire wall. The room looked more lived-in than the others they’d gone by, the furniture covered in a soft, inviting brown leather instead of patterned cloth, and the only two framed prints Castiel saw were both of classic cars. He wondered if the Buyer had had the front rooms professionally decorated but done this one himself.

Speaking of the Buyer, there he was, standing next to one of the armchairs. Castiel’s first thought upon seeing him was a relieved, _At least he’s good-looking_ , which shouldn’t have mattered to him and mostly didn’t—but there was still a small part of him that was grateful anyway.

The Buyer was actually _very_ handsome, Castiel realized as he got closer, one of the most attractive men he’d ever seen as a matter of fact, with even features and a firm jaw and unfairly broad shoulders that had little butterflies taking flight in Castiel’s stomach. Maybe the Buyer being handsome wasn’t such a good thing after all, Castiel thought, feeling objectivity starting to creep away from him.

“Nice to meet you, Seller,” the Buyer said, reaching out to shake his hand, his voice deeper than Castiel expected. His hand was strong and warm, and he looked Castiel directly in the eyes as they shook—he had amazing green eyes, Castiel noticed helplessly—his gaze searching.

Castiel had to swallow before he trusted himself to answer. He’d never been this drawn to someone so suddenly before. “You as well,” he said, sounding more gravelly than usual, and the Buyer’s eyebrows went up for a second, but then he smiled, and yes, this was definitely going to be a problem.

The Buyer offered them both something to drink, and then they sat down across from each other with Uriel on the sofa beside Castiel. They started by going over the general terms of the contract again before moving on to what his specific duties would be if they agreed to each other—this included showing each of them the results of the other’s medical tests, because the Buyer didn’t want to use condoms—what restrictions would be placed on Castiel, and what he could do if he didn’t like something the Buyer was doing. Uriel reminded the both of them that Castiel wouldn’t be required to engage in sexual activities more than three times a day. He then proceeded to define what constituted sexual activity, and Castiel spent most of that lecture examining the bookshelves. It was impossible to look at the Buyer while Uriel talked about penetration and contact with either of their penises.

“I was a little worried when they gave me your profile to review,” the Buyer said directly to Castiel after Uriel had finished, leaning forward in his seat. “This is your first time as a Seller, as well as your first time participating in a BDSM relationship, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, since there was no point in denying it. He’d been concerned that his inexperience might be a sticking point for the Buyer, so he’d prepared for their meeting as much as he could. “I have, however, conducted extensive research into BDSM culture and practices—”

“Okay, but research can only get you so far. I mean, it’s all well and good to read something on a website, but how do you know if you’re going to like it?”

He resisted the urge to squirm. “As I was saying, I spent a lot of time trying to understand what I was agreeing to do. It’s true that I couldn’t get first-hand experience from reading about other people’s activities”—and watching _a lot_ of videos—”there were a . . . variety of different things that I would be willing to try,” he said, attempting to not think about what those things were in order to keep his face from heating.

“Willing to do things, huh?” the Buyer asked, and Castiel had the impression that he might have downplayed his interest too much as the Buyer leaned back and folded his arms. “Like what?”

Castiel found himself glancing at Uriel. He knew that Uriel had access to everything the Buyer had requested, which meant that he knew all the things Castiel would be allowing him to do—but that was the problem. Up until now, it had always been about what the Buyer wanted, not what Castiel wanted. It was a small distinction, but an important one. Except now the Buyer was asking him to do away with it.

“Things like—” He cleared his throat and inched a little closer to the edge of the couch. He knew it wouldn’t actually keep Uriel from hearing anything, but it irrationally made him feel better, nonetheless. “I spent most of my time,” he began in a low voice, looking over at Uriel again, and thank goodness he had the decency to pretend he was reading the contract instead of watching the two of them, “trying to focus on the items you had detailed in the terms.” He tried to sound at ease, but he could feel his shoulders tensing without his permission, “and I—”

“You know what?” the Buyer said, standing up suddenly, and Castiel jumped a little in his seat. “I think we should move on to the last portion of this meeting. What do you think, Seller?”

“I—yes, of course. Wh-what does that involve exactly?” Mrs. Dunham had told him he would perform a service, but she couldn’t say what exactly he’d be asked to do.

“I want you to take off your clothes and masturbate for me. If you don’t mind, Uriel,” the Buyer said, as if he hadn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary, “could you wait in the hall while the Seller and I are in the bedroom? I’ll keep the door slightly open so you can interrupt if necessary.”

“That will be fine,” Uriel said, and Castiel slowly got to his feet. 

The bedroom the Buyer took them to was two doors down from the den, and there was a chair already in place for Uriel, situated so that it’d be difficult for him to look inside without it being obvious. When Castiel walked into the room, he noticed the bed was against the wall to his right, which meant Uriel wouldn’t be able to see anything unless he opened the door all the way. Intentionally or not, the Buyer had given him as much privacy as the circumstances would allow, and it made the tight feeling in his chest ease a little. He was really doing this. He was going to do it.

Castiel had never had a problem with Sellers or Buyers. He knew some people looked down on them, but most people realized it was just a business, just like any other where one person offered a service that another person wanted. At the same time, however, it wasn’t an industry he’d ever planned on entering himself, too stiff with other people to imagine it’d be anything but awkward, and even though he’d been doing what he could to prepare, he still felt like he was jumping off the side of the cliff without knowing what was below him.

“I’d tell you to relax, but I doubt you’d listen,” the Buyer said, sitting down in a chair across from the bed. “If it makes you feel any better, though, I’m not going to touch you, and anytime you want to stop, you can.”

“I know that,” he said, a bit testier than he’d planned, but all the Buyer did was smile.

“Alright then, good. Like I said before, I want you to take off your clothes and masturbate for me. That’s it.” 

“That’s it,” Castiel repeated skeptically, because it seemed relatively simple—actually it seemed extremely daunting, and his palms were already sweating—and not in line with what the Buyer seemed to be looking for in a Seller. Although maybe it was the humiliation aspect of having Castiel do it?

“ _Well_ ,” the Buyer drawled, extending the word. “I might tell you to stop every now and then.”

“You want me to stop,” he said, and ah, orgasm delay with possible denial.

“When I say. And then start up again when I tell you to.” The Buyer fluttered his eyelashes innocently. 

“And how many times are you going to have me stop?” he asked and knew he was wise to be suspicious when the Buyer’s smile grew wider.

“As many times as I want.”

Castiel took a deep breath. Then another. This was nothing to be intimidated by. He’d been naked in front of other people before. What was a body anyway but a machine in the end? Everyone had one. Some might be considered more pleasing than others, but only because people were raised to find certain configurations of features attractive. Besides, Castiel wasn’t ashamed of his body. While he probably should do a better job of eating healthily, he tried to take care of himself, exercising regularly and—

He twitched when the Buyer’s chair creaked. He was procrastinating.

His looked over at the Buyer, but he didn’t seem irritated. If anything, he appeared amused, and that made Castiel’s back straighten.

The Buyer had already expressed doubt that he would— _could_ —go through with this, and Castiel’s hesitation had to be reinforcing his belief that he’d fail. 

Well then, he’d just have to prove him wrong.

His movements were jerky as he took off his clothes, but the Buyer hadn’t requested a striptease of any kind, so Castiel wasn’t going to provide one. He draped each article of clothing on the corner of the bed, keeping his eyes on what he was doing, and placed his shoes neatly side-by-side on the floor, tucking his socks inside. The Buyer had said to take off his clothes. He hadn’t said to stop at his socks, and Castiel planned to carry out each instruction to the letter.

He stood when he was finished, facing toward the Buyer, although he still didn’t look at him directly. Now that he couldn’t fixate on undoing his buttons or placing his clothes just so, all he could think about was that he was naked. In front of a stranger. A stranger who was still completely clothed. Whom he was going to masturbate in front of. 

He was too nervous to be aroused, and Castiel didn’t know if that was a mark for or against him—probably against considering what he was being asked to do. He didn’t think it was going to be a problem in the long run considering how attractive he found the Buyer, but being flaccid somehow just added to the humiliation he already felt, as if he were failing to do what the Buyer wanted. 

It made it so that it was all he could do to keep still as the Buyer watched him, keeping his own eyes fixed on the series of three abstract paintings on the wall, although he didn’t really pay attention to the image they made. The longer the Buyer kept staring, the longer Castiel started to wonder what exactly he was seeing and if Castiel should’ve done more before their appointment, tried to tan a little maybe, or perhaps shaved— 

“Very nice,” the Buyer said, and there was a sincere note of appreciation in his voice that had Castiel flushing even harder, something he wouldn’t have thought possible since his face had been red ever since he’d started undressing. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to sit on the edge of the bed for me.” 

Sit on the bed. He could do that.

Castiel looked back and gingerly sat down on the blanket. It felt incredibly soft against his naked skin, almost strangely so since he didn’t typically pay that much attention to his buttocks or the backs of thighs. He actually felt a little guilty for sitting on it, even though it’d been the Buyer’s idea.

“Legs apart, please,” the Buyer said, and Castiel tensed for a second before straightening and spreading his thighs so they weren’t locked together. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been doing it. 

_Stop being ridiculous_ , he ordered himself and moved closer to the edge in order to open his legs even wider. This was why he was here in the first place after all. If he couldn’t do this much, how was he planning to do any of the rest of it?

“Very, _very_ nice,” the Buyer said, his voice deeper than before. There was another wait, and Castiel’s cheeks burned as the Buyer looked his fill, but he kept his head raised. He might be embarrassed, but he wasn’t ashamed. “Alright, whenever you’re ready.”

 _Whenever you’re ready._ It was a kind thing to say, even if the Buyer didn’t actually mean the words. Maybe he did, though. The Buyer had yet to be overly rude or impatient, and that, almost as much as the money, kept Castiel where he was. He took a deep breath and then took his cock in hand.

He’d never masturbated for anyone before, at least, not without his partner right beside him, doing the same thing, and it was very different performing for someone than doing it by himself. Castiel stared down at his cock, which was still mostly soft, the jerky way in which he was tugging at it probably not helping things along. It’d be easier if he could pretend to be alone, but that was impossible in his current circumstances. He tried to relax, to let the pleasure overtake his nervousness, but—

“Look at me,” the Buyer said, and Castiel’s head snapped up before he even realized what he was doing. “Good. Keep your eyes on me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, gritting the word out, because the point was to make a good impression on the Buyer, and he wasn’t going to accomplish that by telling the man no.

But after a few tense seconds of worrying he wasn’t going to manage to get erect after all, he found it actually helped to look, to see the arousal on the Buyer’s face, even if it he was a stranger. Here was an incredibly handsome man, watching Castiel pleasure himself, and Castiel’s movements became smoother, his cock firming in his grip.

“Lick your hand,” the Buyer said after a while, and Castiel swallowed at the order and then had to work more saliva into his mouth once he realized what he’d done. He needed to lick his palm twice to coat it, and he inhaled sharply at the slickness when he started stroking himself again.

Once he got started, it took much less time to get close to orgasm than usual, which he tried not to think about as his hand worked quickly, his breathing getting louder and his thighs tensing in readiness.

“Okay, now stop,” the Buyer said, the first thing he’d said since he’d told him to lick his hand.

“What?” Castiel breathed, even though he’d heard him, because it took a second for the meaning of what the Buyer had said to register. When it did, he had to close his eyes, his fingers squeezing his cock once before he forced himself to let go. Orgasm delay. He’d forgotten.

“Were you close?” 

As if he couldn’t tell the Buyer already knew the answer to his question from the small smile on his face.

Still, the Buyer had asked, so Castiel answered, “Yes,” feeling vaguely resentful, both for the question and for having had to stop.

The Buyer’s smile widened. “Okay, you can start up again when you want.”

Castiel took a moment to compose himself and then relicked his hand, picking up from where he’d left off.

He was able to stop again, and then again, the interest in the Buyer’s eyes turning sharper and more focused, but by the fourth time, Castiel was trembling, and he couldn’t keep from gasping, “Please,” curling his hands into fists to keep them from away from his cock.

“Please what?” the Buyer asked, but Castiel could hear the thread of satisfaction in his voice, and he had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from finishing himself off in petty revenge. He may have known what he was getting himself into, but it didn’t prevent him from feeling the first curls of anger, the desire to orgasm almost too great to handle. He had to keep the money at the forefront of his thoughts; it was the only thing that let him hold on to his control.

“Please, may I come?” he said, and even to his own ears, it didn’t come off as polite, frustration making him sound harsh.

The Buyer appeared to consider it, but Castiel could tell it wasn’t genuine, and he was proven right when the Buyer said, “No. No, I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.”

Castiel couldn’t help taking the “not yet” to heart, the hope that the Buyer would eventually concede, but it was difficult to keep having faith when the Buyer stopped him for a fifth time, a sixth.

By the tenth time, Castiel was barely touching his cock at all before the Buyer was telling him to stop, and he hadn’t needed to lick his hand in a long time, because the precome already made everything so wet. Castiel had no idea how he managed to obey the order, grabbing handholds of the blanket like a lifeline. _The money,_ he reminded himself yet again. _You have to keep going if you want the money._ But he could hardly bring himself to care right then when his breath was coming in heaving pants, and his cock was harder than it’d ever been. His testicles ached, he felt almost feverish, and he’d never wanted to come so badly before in his life.

“Shhh,” the Buyer said, and it wasn’t until then that Castiel noticed he’d been whispering, “Please,” over and over again, rocking his body to the tempo of his words. He couldn’t believe he was begging, the resentment having disappeared long ago under the overwhelming need, but he was, and he could feel tears welling in his eyes as he whispered another desperate “Please.”

“You’ve been so good. Fuck, you earned it. You’re so—” The Buyer shifted in his chair, his hands sliding up and down his thighs. “Do it. Come whenever you want.”

Castiel had his cock in his hand before the Buyer even finished talking, and it didn’t even take two more seconds before Castiel was groaning loudly, shaking and hunched over, the pleasure so intense that it left him dizzy as he came and came and came.

He felt exhausted afterward and boneless, and it was an effort to keep himself upright when all he wanted to do what collapse onto the bed.

“How are you doing?” the Buyer asked, his voice rough, and Castiel blinked at him hazily. 

“I’m . . .” He tried to search for a word that encapsulated everything he was feeling, but it was too much. He could barely think. “Fine.”

The Buyer let out a strangled laugh, and Castiel blinked again. The Buyer cleared his throat. “Look, why don’t you lie down for a second.” The Buyer stood up and walked toward the bed, grabbing the far end of the blanket and draping it over Castiel’s shoulders. 

“You can clean up in a minute,” the Buyer said, and Castiel looked down, realizing he was a mess—and that he was still holding his cock. He let it go, twitching at the sensation, and stared at his body. He was covered in come. Drenched in it. He drew the blanket further down until he was semi-decent, huddling in its warmth. He felt bad for a second about getting it dirty, but the Buyer had been the one to put it over him and had told him to clean up later. He was just doing what the Buyer wanted. 

“Okay.” Castiel struggled to focus, which was challenging to do when he was so conscious of the cooling come on his body. “Don’t you have another appointment soon, though?” he asked at last, remembering Mrs. Dunham telling him that the interviews would be all scheduled close together. He was sure the Buyer had other rooms to use, but it’d be awkward to say the least if Castiel ran into another Seller.

“No, I’ve made my decision.” The Buyer didn’t touch Castiel, but Castiel got the impression he wanted to. “Here,” he said, handing Castiel a bottle of water out of seeming nowhere. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to Uriel. Take your time coming out. The bathroom is over there,” he said, pointing. “If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be right outside the door.”

Castiel nodded and then watched the Buyer leave the room. He’d done it. The Buyer was going to sign Castiel’s contract, and the thought filled him with triumph—and something else that he didn’t quite understand. He was only doing this for the money, so the knowledge that he’d pleased the Buyer shouldn’t matter beyond the fact that it’d gotten him the job. And yet, somehow it did. 

\-----

Castiel started his new job on a Monday. His interview had been on a Thursday, so he’d gone back into Lordis on Friday to pick up a folder on the Buyer—on Dean Winchester since he now got to know his name—and to set up his direct deposit, because he’d forgotten to take his checkbook with him the first time.

He’d had the weekend to tell his manager at Whole Foods that he wouldn’t be able to take any shifts in the next two weeks—he’d already warned her that might be a possibility after his first appointment at Lordis, but he had to tell her that he definitely wouldn’t be available—and to ask Balthazar to check in on his apartment every few days. He also went over to say goodbye to Anna, telling her that he was going to be working the night shift for a while, so he probably wouldn’t be able to see her.

That done, he spent Sunday reading over the Buy—Dean’s—Mr. Winchester’s?—file and packing a bag and then repacking it two more times, because he had no idea what he was supposed to bring. Mrs. Dunham had told him to bring a few different outfits in case they ended up going out after all, as well as everyday clothes, but she’d said he shouldn’t worry about it too much. 

“Many Buyers provide their own outfits for Sellers to wear, or ask you not to wear anything at all,” she’d said in a way that suggested she was trying to be comforting, but that had just made him worry more. He might have to go around naked? “Mr. Winchester will go over his expectations with you on Monday.”

So here he was, once again in the same suit and tie since he hadn’t known what was appropriate, but formal was probably better than too informal. Unfortunately, he only owned one suit, but hopefully Mr. Winchester wouldn’t notice.

He rang the doorbell and didn’t have to wait long for the door to open.

“Good morning, Castiel,” Mr. Winchester said, and apparently Castiel’s memory wasn’t wrong, because Mr. Winchester was still one of the most handsome men he’d ever met.

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Just call me Dean.”

“Very well. Good morning, Dean.”

Dean’s mouth quirked. “Let me show you around. Is that all you brought?” he asked, referring to the suitcase at Castiel’s feet.

Castiel nodded.

“Okay, then let’s drop that off first, and then I’ll give you the five cent tour.”

The room Dean took him to wasn’t the same one he’d been in during his interview. This one had more windows for one thing, and it also had a set of built-in shelves that were partially filled with books. There was an adjoining bathroom and a large walk-in closet that was empty except for an extra blanket and pillow. 

“Thank you. This is wonderful,” Castiel said, feeling he should express his gratitude. Not that he’d expected Dean to throw him in some kind of dungeon, but it was a relief to see where he’d be staying.

“You can pick a different room if you find one you like better,” Dean said, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly. 

“No, this is . . . this is quite lovely,” he said sincerely. “It’s very kind of you.”

If anything, that made Dean look more uncomfortable.

“C’mon. Let me show you around.”

The rest of the house was just as nice as what Castiel had already seen. There was an exercise room with weights and a treadmill, a play room with Foosball and pool tables, and a movie room with a huge screen on the wall. There was also a pool in the backyard—although backyard wasn’t exactly the right term since it was much larger than any backyard Castiel had ever seen, and it was ringed by what looked to be a forest from where he was standing. There obviously wouldn’t be an issue of privacy.

They went back inside to finish the tour—kitchen, laundry room, basement—and then Dean pointed to a closed door. “That’s my bedroom.” He didn’t offer to show it to Castiel, and Castiel didn’t ask. “And this is where you’ll offer your services. I’d like to keep anything explicitly sexual confined to in here.”

Castiel nodded as he looked around. “Alright.” It had a bed, a nightstand, a chair for reading, all the same things that he’d seen in the other guest rooms, although there was also a mini-fridge tucked into the corner. He would’ve thought that Dean would have . . . _things_ lying around, or strange apparatuses. And perhaps Dean did have those things somewhere else—he hadn’t shown Castiel the inside of his bedroom or the basement—but the only thing that stood out about this one was that the bedframe was made out of metal instead of wood and had spindles all along the head- and footboard. 

It would certainly make tying someone up easy.

“So I thought I’d give you a chance to settle in before we got started. Have you eaten yet?” Dean asked, closing the door.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said evenly, even though his heart rate had picked up when Dean had mentioned starting.

“Okay, so why don’t you relax for a while, take a look around if you want—you’re free to go anywhere except my bedroom—and then we can meet back in the kitchen for lunch around noon. That work for you?”

Castiel glanced at his watch. That would give him over two and a half hours to himself. “Yes, thank you.”

“You don’t need to keep thanking me,” Dean said gruffly, turning away. “It’s what anyone would do.”

Was it? Castiel wondered as he watched Dean leave. Maybe. Maybe all Buyers gave their live-in Sellers the best guest room they had to offer—he’d seen all the other rooms, and they’d all had fewer windows or ones that looked out to the pool or the patio instead of offering privacy—and gave them time to unpack instead of demanding sex right away. Maybe not. But it was a still a kindness that Dean had willingly given and one that Castiel appreciated. 

\-----

Dean made sandwiches for lunch, although perhaps Castiel was doing them a disservice since they were stacked at least twice as high as any sandwich he’d ever made for himself. Conversation was polite and generic, which was understandable considering they were strangers, but it was also a little tiring. Castiel wasn’t great at small talk. Dean filled in the most awkward silences, and the sandwiches were delicious, so it was a pleasant enough time, but Castiel hoped it would get easier as the days went on. 

It was only when they were both finished eating that Dean brought up the reason why Castiel was there.

“I’d like to have our first session at three o’clock. That alright?”

Castiel curled his fingers around the napkin in his lap. “That will be fine,” he said, trying not to let his voice betray his nerves.

Dean smiled wryly, so he apparently hadn’t been as successful as he’d wished. “I’d like to edge you for a while and then fuck you. You’ll get to come, but not until after I do. Okay?”

He swallowed. “Of course. For how long?” he blurted out, even though he hadn’t intended to ask. He remembered his interview, however, the desperation he’d felt by the end, and he couldn’t help thinking about how much longer Dean would make him wait.

Dean grinned, looking all too pleased with himself, and Castiel could feel his heart flutter at the sight. It was the first time he’d seen Dean truly smile, and it almost distracted him from Dean saying, “As long as I want.”

Almost. But not quite.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said, standing up and clapping Castiel on the shoulder. “You can always safeword.”

Castiel frowned at his retreating back. Yes, he could use his safeword, but they’d both agreed that if he used it five times during the two weeks, that would be the end of the contract. They’d be too incompatible. And unless Dean were doing something outside the terms, Castiel would be at fault, which meant he’d only be paid for the services he’d provided up to that point. Using his safeword was unacceptable.

Besides, the last time had been . . .

He shivered and quickly got up, picking up his plate and glass to take to the kitchen.

\-----

Castiel made sure to school his features to calmness before he entered what he was starting to refer to as the Service Room. They both knew it was his first time doing anything like this, but there was no need to appear anxious and possibly deter Dean.

Although perhaps Dean would prefer he act as nervous as he felt. It was something to consider.

Dean was already waiting inside, sitting against the headboard in the center of the bed with the comforter folded down at the end, so Castiel entered the room, hesitating as he debated whether or not to close the door. There was no one else in the house, so leaving it open technically wasn’t a problem, but it made him uncomfortable to think someone _could_ just walk by and see.

“Go ahead and close the door,” Dean said, taking the choice from him, and Castiel nodded, shutting it quietly. 

There was something different about Dean, Castiel noticed when he turned around to look at him—some change in posture or demeanor that made him seem more relaxed than any other time Castiel had seen him. He wondered about it, but he didn’t comment.

“From now on, I’d like you to take off your clothes every time you come in here and put them on the chair next to the door, and then stand there with your arms folded behind your back, knees shoulder-width apart.”

He nodded, hands lifting toward his shirt.

“I also expect you to respond whenever I tell you something. ‘Yes, Dean’ is fine.”

“Yes, Dean,” he said dutifully.

“Good. Now what’s your safeword?”

“You already know my safeword,” Castiel said, confused. They’d agreed to it during the negotiations.

“Yeah, but I’d like for you to tell me again. It’s always good to have it in the back of your head during a session,” Dean said patiently.

“It’s ‘herald,’” Castiel said, because they had asked him what word he’d wanted to use, and his mind had gone blank before bringing up something random. Once he’d thought of it, however, it had seemed strangely appropriate. Heralds were signs of change, and what was this after all?

“Herald. Alright, keep going.”

He said “yes, Dean” again just to be on the safe side, and then started unbuttoning his shirt. He was faintly surprised to see his hands trembling. By the time he was completely naked, he had it under control, and he breathed, deeply and evenly, as he waited for directions.

Dean didn’t make him wait very long, a handful of seconds only, and then he said, “Come here.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said, and he wasn’t sure if he should keep his hands behind him or not, so he left them as they were. Dean would let him know if he were wrong.

“Get on the bed and straddle my thighs.”

“Yes, Dean.”

It was more difficult getting on the bed than he would’ve thought without using his arms, but soon enough, he was in position, trying not to think about how embarrassing it had been to knee-walk across to Dean like this, about how he was completely naked and exposed, while Dean himself was still clothed. It wasn’t the first time Dean had seen him naked, he reminded himself, but the thought wasn’t as helpful as it could’ve been since he knew Dean wouldn’t restrict himself to just looking this time around.

Dean was a large man, and even with Castiel’s legs spread, they ended up touching, Castiel’s naked thighs pressed against the outside of Dean’s.

“You’re very handsome,” Dean said, and it made Castiel flush even more than he’d already been doing.

The position they were in made it so he was taller than Dean, which meant while Dean was looking at Castiel’s body, Castiel could watch him without being watched in turn. His stomach clenched at the look of anticipation on Dean’s face, the hunger, and he could feel his cock start to fill with blood in response.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, his voice sounding lower than normal to his own ears.

Dean let out a contented hum. “I know we didn’t discuss this beforehand, but would you mind if I called you ‘Cas’ while we we’re in here?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Dean said, and raised his hands, placing them at Castiel’s waist.

Castiel sucked in a quick breath at the feel of them—Dean hands were very warm. They were also large and darker in color than his torso, and he found himself watching as one began to traverse his skin.

“Do you like having your nipples played with, Cas?” Dean asked, spreading his fingers and grazing first one nipple with his thumb, and then the other one with his pinky, moving his hand side to side so neither one was neglected for long. 

“I—” He tensed, his back arching slightly, taken off-guard by how good it felt. “Yes, Dean.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Dean said as he continued to tease them.

“None of my partners—” Castiel had to swallow, shifting his weight, “—paid much attention to them before.” Not to say that no one had ever touched his nipples, but no one had lingered on them the way Dean was.

“Well, that was pretty stupid of them,” Dean said, pressing a little firmer and making Castiel twitch at the tingles of pleasure.

“Yes, Dean,” he said, not knowing how else to respond, and Dean let out a huff of laughter.

Dean continued the motion of his hand until Castiel was almost used to the sensation, until he started expecting the shivery pleasure. Then Dean started pinching his nipples. Hard.

“Ah!” Castiel jerked, making the flesh pull taut, and the muscles in his arms flexed as he struggled to keep himself from automatically stopping Dean, whether in reaction to the sudden pain or to the accompanying burst of pleasure, he didn’t know.

“You’ve got great tits, Cas,” Dean said conversationally, and Castiel’s face burned.

He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse when Dean let go as it left his nipples throbbing, even without Dean manipulating them. He didn’t get much opportunity to ponder the question, however, because Dean stroked up the length of his cock with just the pads of his fingers before pulling away.

“Dean!” Castiel gasped in surprise, thrusting forward without meaning to. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d become, but he was, humiliatingly so, his cock red and leaking and flexing in the air as if searching for more of Dean’s touch.

“Hmm?” Dean asked, repeating the same motion, and Castiel’s breath stuttered, his thighs twitching.

Dean did it again, although this time he added a squeeze at the tip that had Castiel grunting, the sound punched out of him. “Was there something you wanted, Cas?”

He hesitated before shaking his head, then remembered himself and said, “No, Dean.” He knew Dean wasn’t planning on letting him orgasm any time soon. There was no point in asking already.

“You sure?” Dean looked up at him while he brought up his other hand to cup Castiel’s testicles, rolling them in his palm as he stroked him again. 

Castiel gritted his teeth, holding back the moan that wanted to escape. “Yes, Dean.”

“Okay, well, you let me know when there’s something you need,” Dean said, pulling both hands away, and Castiel inhaled sharply, clenching his whole body.

“Yes, Dean,” he said roughly.

He watched as Dean picked up a small bottle of lubrication that had apparently been next to his hip the whole time and tried not to think about how excited he already was, about how little Dean had actually done to him in order to get him into that state. After his interview, he’d known that there were going to be things he enjoyed; what he hadn’t given much thought to was how _much_ he was going to enjoy them.

Dean popped open the cap and turned the bottle over, drizzling the lubrication over Castiel’s cock, seemingly uncaring about the way it dripped from Castiel onto Dean’s own denim-clad legs. When Castiel was coated to his satisfaction, he closed it back up, tossing it onto the bed next to him.

“That’s better,” Dean said, using his whole hand to wrap around Castiel’s cock, sliding wetly up and down as Castiel shuddered, hunching over, unable to prevent the moan this time around.

Dean played with him for a long time, rubbing Castiel’s cock, his testicles, his perineum, Dean’s hands wandering to Castiel’s nipples whenever he felt the urge. Dean made everything so soaked with lubrication that his hands glided over Castiel’s skin without resistance, and Castiel had never felt anything like it, smooth and wet all over. 

Castiel bore with it for as long as he could, but it felt like a depressingly short period of time before he was begging and arching his body whenever Dean’s hands left him, as if he could follow his touch somehow.

“Did you want something, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice damnably even when Castiel felt like he was on the brink of shattering apart, and he let out a gasping “please,” every part of him longing for whatever Dean was willing to give him.

“Please what?” Dean said, and Castiel sobbed, not knowing how much more he could take, his fingers aching with tension as he dug them into his arms to keep them from reaching out.

“You try to be so good for me, Cas,” Dean said, smiling warmly up at him, and Castiel nodded frantically.

“I do, I swear. _Please,_ Dean.”

“Alright. Hold still now,” Dean said, putting one hand on Castiel’s hip. 

“Ye-yes, Dean,” he whispered, his chest heaving, fine tremors running up and down his body.

He inhaled sharply when Dean gently pushed one finger into him, hips moving restlessly because it wasn’t enough until Dean said, “Cas,” and he stopped.

“Do you like being fucked, Cas?” Dean asked, as he moved in and out, torturously slow, as if he had all the time in the world, and Castiel couldn’t understand how calm Dean was. How was he so unaffected when Castiel felt like he was about to go crazy?

Didn’t . . . didn’t Dean want him?

“Yes, Dean,” he said, his voice quiet, and he shoved the question to the back of his thoughts. Dean wouldn’t have chosen him if he didn’t want him. And even if, for some reason, Dean had changed his mind since the interview, Castiel was still here, and he would still get paid for his services. It wasn’t important if Dean wanted him or not.

It wasn’t.

“How much do you like it?” Dean asked, pressing his thumb against the slit of Castiel’s cock as he added another finger, and Castiel shuddered, whining low in his throat.

“So much,” he whispered, and he knew it wasn’t exactly what Dean was looking for, but it was nearly impossible to think with Dean’s fingers simultaneously rubbing over his prostate and his cock, just fanning the flames higher, and he hadn’t thought to ask what would happen if he came before Dean let him, but he was going to find out.

Except then Dean stopped, and Castiel groaned, “ _No_ ,” and grinded back against Dean’s knuckles. 

Dean laughed, pulling free, and if he hadn’t slapped Castiel’s thigh and said, “On your stomach,” Castiel honestly didn’t know what he would’ve done.

It look longer than it should’ve for Castiel to lie down, but he hadn’t realized how tired his legs had become, his muscles starting to quiver once he tried to move into a new position. Dean had to help him over and ease him down, and Dean tugged on his arms, saying, “Let them go,” so Castiel would unclasp them.

“Do you need to take a break?” Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head.

“No, Dean.” Nothing actually hurt, and a break meant Dean teasing him for even longer, and Castiel couldn’t stand that thought.

“Do you want to use your safeword?”

“ _No_ , Dean,” he said, and why was Dean even asking? He’d already as much as said that he was fine.

He tensed then sighed into the sheets as Dean started to massage his thighs, and Dean scolded him, saying, “You need to tell me if it gets to be too much for you.”

“It wasn’t too much. I’m alright, really. Please, I don’t need to stop.”

“You’re sure?” Dean asked skeptically.

“Yes, Dean, I’m sure. Now please fuck me,” he said, spreading his legs and tilting his hips up impatiently.

“I think I liked you better when you’re begging,” Dean said, but he sounded amused, and he moved behind Castiel.

Enough time had passed that Castiel had calmed down somewhat, but Dean seemed to know that, sliding his fingers back inside of him and toying with him until Castiel was pushing back to meet his hand and moaning helplessly.

“You ever been rimmed, Cas?” Dean asked, making Castiel freeze for a second before he looked back over his shoulder at him.

“No, Dean,” he said, barely able to get the words out. 

Dean smirked at him. “Come here.” He grabbed Castiel’s hips, pulling him to the edge of the bed effortlessly and sending a spike of lust through Castiel at the casual show of strength, and then he knelt behind him. 

Castiel just had time to say, “Dean?” before he felt Dean’s tongue. 

Fuck.

Oh _fuck_.

Castiel didn’t understand how something could possibly feel that good. Even Dean’s fingers running up and down his cock were secondary to what Dean was doing with his mouth. Castiel couldn’t begin to describe it, and he muffled the noises he was making into the mattress, mortified by his reactions. Dean was—he was— 

Castiel honestly didn’t mean to orgasm. What good was a Seller who couldn’t provide the agreed-upon services? He meant to stop Dean. He did.

“Dean,” Castiel gasped, turning his head so he could be heard, hands clenched in the sheets. “ _Dean_. Wai—” 

Dean froze when Castiel started coming, and for one split second, Castiel panicked Dean was going to pull away from him—but then Dean went back to fucking him with his tongue, Dean’s hand tightening around his cock as he worked him through one of the most devastating orgasms Castiel had ever had. Dean didn’t stop when Castiel was through, kept stroking him until Castiel was jerking from the over-stimulation and pushing at Dean’s hand.

“Stop, oh, fuck, stop,” Castiel whined, and Dean laughed and let him go.

It was as if his legs had turned to rubber, and Castiel barely managed to climb fully back onto the bed as he tried to get his breath back. He lay on his side, bringing his legs up to give himself at least a semblance of privacy, although, what good it did him at this point, he didn’t know.

“Well,” Dean said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm, “that wasn’t how I expected this to go.”

It took a moment for the words to register, and then Castiel winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Dean shrugged. “Well, at least that answers the question of whether or not you like rimming.”

Castiel didn’t think he’d ever blushed so much in front of anyone else in his life. It didn’t help that he had splatters of come cooling on his stomach and chest.

“But it does leave me with a little bit of a problem.”

He could see the front of Dean’s pants, and it didn’t seem very little to him.

“I could . . .” Castiel felt good—not euphoric like he’d read some people got after being edged, but still, very good. He was also tired, however, as if all his energy had drained out of him with his come, and the thought of using his hands or his mouth was dismaying at the moment. “Or you could still penetrate me if you wanted.”

“Oh, I could, could I?” Dean asked, eyes crinkling as he grinned, and Castiel was struck again by how attractive he was. 

“That is definitely one option. See, Cas, I think this is going to go one of two ways. One, I could do what you suggested and turn you over and fuck you. It’d probably take me a while, and you’d be sensitive as hell, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until I was able to wring at least two more orgams out of you that you wouldn’t enjoy half as much as that first one,” Dean said, eyes never leaving him. “Or two, we could call it a day, and later on tonight, I’d put a cock cage on you in order to make sure you don’t come again until I let you—which could very well be a few days from now, if not longer. You choose.”

Castiel’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

It wasn’t that over-stimulation and chastity devices hadn’t been in the contract, because they had. It was just that they were so outside what was normal for him that he’d assumed it’d be very mild, like when Dean had kept stroking him after he’d just come, or Dean would put him in a cock cage for one session. Obviously, he’d been naive.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, feeling too vulnerable to continue lying down. “The . . . the cock cage,” he said after a minute of Dean watching him. He had no doubt that Dean was telling the truth about trying to extract at least two more orgasms from him as punishment for coming before he was allowed, and with the way he felt at that moment, the prospect seemed overwhelming. But he’d gone a week without masturbating before, and yes, he’d still be expected to service Dean, but without being able to get hard, it had to be the easier of the two options, didn’t it? 

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. “You won’t be able to take it off unless you safeword. I’ll have the only key.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, even though he wasn’t really, but it seemed like the lesser of the two evils.

“Alright,” Dean said, slapping his thigh and standing. “Then let’s get you cleaned up.” He took a step toward the nightstand, turning back around with wipes in his hand, and Castiel reached out for them. Dean looked surprised for a second, but he placed them in Castiel’s palm. Heated wipes, Castiel realized when he felt their warmth against his skin. That was very considerate.

He wasn’t sure if it was more awkward to clean up with Dean watching or sit there with his come speckled across his front, but before he had a chance to decide, Dean spoke again.

“Would you like a drink?” Dean held up a bottle of orange juice. It had to have been sitting on the nightstand the whole time, but Castiel honestly had no recollection of seeing it there. “I’ve got apple juice too, if you’d rather have that.”

“Orange juice is fine,” Castiel said, and Dean opened the bottle before handing it to him. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

It was definitely more awkward just sitting there. After a moment, Castiel said, “I’d like to take a shower.”

“Sure,” Dean said, moving forward as if he were going to help him, and no. No.

It took a while for Castiel to convince Dean he didn’t need his assistance showering. Castiel might have been tired, but he wasn’t incapacitated. A whole series of emotions had flickered across Dean’s face when Castiel had told him he’d prefer to be alone, too fast for Castiel to be able to discern, before settling on wry amusement. “Alright, alright, I know when I’m not wanted. But I’ll just be in there,” he’d said, motioning toward the general area of his bedroom, “so yell if you need anything. Otherwise, dinner’s at seven, and if you don’t mind, we can come back here at nine.” 

“Of course,” Castiel had said, quite levelly, he’d thought, and then had waited until Dean had gone before gathering the energy to move. Surprisingly, the juice helped. He scrubbed himself haphazardly with the now cool wipes before dressing. It’d mean he’d have to wash his clothes before wearing them again, but he preferred to shower in his own room. 

He was still feeling drained, so it took a while to change the sheets—it seemed the polite thing to do, especially since he’d basically kicked Dean out of the room—and raised his eyebrows at the number of replacements he found in the closet. He didn’t think he’d ever seen that many linens in one place other than a store. Dean was obviously prepared.

Finally, when everything was neatly in place and the old sheets were in the hamper he’d found in the bathroom, he ventured out.

He tried not to think about what was going to happen during their next session, but it was like being told not to think about the pink elephant. His mind kept drifting back to the subject again and again, and as he was standing under the spray of water in his bathroom, washing out the traces of his come, he found himself staring down at his pubic hair and wondering if he should shave. It wasn’t lost on him that he was worrying about that particular issue for the second time since he’d met Dean, even though he’d never considered it before he’d become a Seller. 

He tried to think back to all the pictures he’d seen of men in chastity and couldn’t remember if they’d all been shaved or not. He didn’t recall seeing bushels of hair, however, so they probably had been, and thinking about it rationally, the hair had to get in the way. 

Didn’t it? 

On the other hand, Dean hadn’t told him to shave, and he’d gotten a bird’s eye view of Castiel’s groin, so Castiel would think he would’ve said something if it’d been necessary. 

Maybe he’d assumed Castiel knew.

No, Dean realized he was a neophyte in this area. He would’ve said something.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Castiel didn’t trim—

He thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead softly several times. He wasn’t going to think about this anymore, about any of it. He was going to finish his shower, and then he was going to watch some mindless television or choose a book out of Dean’s offerings until dinner, and then he’d . . . well, he’d figure something out. It was just the fear of the unknown making him so antsy, and that would be resolved soon enough.

\-----

Dinner was steaks that practically melted in Castiel’s mouth, they were so tender, but he wasn’t able to give them the attention they deserved. Dean thankfully didn’t comment on his silence and kept up a one-sided conversation until he finally said, “I’ll clean up. Why don’t you go relax?”

Castiel didn’t remember what he’d said in return, but he took advantage of Dean’s offer, secluding himself until five minutes before nine. He couldn’t even say _why_ he was so anxious since there were people out there who used cock cages all the time, so it couldn’t be painful. Could it? 

No, Dean had said he might not take it off for days, and no one would want to have something hurting them down there for _days_.

Could they?

He really, _really_ should’ve done more research. Nonetheless, he would give Dean the benefit of the doubt and assume it wouldn’t be painful. At all. 

The thought of something surrounding his cock was still nerve wracking, however.

It was his _cock_. And Dean wanted to enclose it in something that Castiel couldn’t take off.

He had to stop himself from protectively covering his crotch.

Dean was already in the Service Room when he got there, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Okay, first things first. What’s your safeword, Cas?” Dean asked after Castiel had closed the door.

“Herald,” Castiel said, even though he had said it just a few hours ago, and reminding himself of why he was there, he squared his shoulders and started to undress.

Dean waited until Castiel was in position before he lifted his hand and revealed what he was holding. “I had to estimate the size based on the interview. If it doesn’t fit, I can always order another one.” 

If it didn’t fit? The cock cage looked different from the ones Castiel had seen before, more like a true cage curved into the shape of a penis instead of the sheath he’d been imagining. What did Dean mean by ‘if it didn’t fit?’ Castiel thought about the cage being too small and nearly said his safeword right then and there. 

“Everyone has a preference, but I’ve always liked the look of the metal ones, myself.” 

Castiel didn’t know why, because it came off as more intimidating than the plastic versions he’d seen. Although, perhaps that _was_ the appeal.

“Come here, Cas,” Dean said, and Castiel hesitated, uncertain, but this had been his choice—was still his choice—and he moved within reach.

Earlier that afternoon, he’d been so careful to say, “Yes, Dean,” to anything that seemed to leave an opening for a response, but it felt like his mouth was glued shut now. Thankfully, Dean didn’t seem bothered.

“This won’t hurt,” Dean said, and Castiel was tempted to ask, _how did he know?_ , but he refrained.

For all of his worry, Castiel felt remarkably detached from it all as he watched Dean fit the cage to him. Even the sight and feel of Dean’s fingers on his cock didn’t affect him, although, intellectually, he knew they should have. It was just all too surreal.

“There,” Dean said, once he’d closed the lock, the little _click_ making Castiel twitch and snapping him out of his daze. “How does it feel?”

How did it feel? How was Castiel supposed to answer that?

It felt cold. And surprisingly heavy. 

Although, perhaps that part wasn’t very surprising after all. It wasn’t as if he normally had things hanging off his cock.

It also made him look incredibly small, which he wasn’t sure how he felt about, but he supposed nerves had a lot to do with that.

“I can . . . honestly say that I’ve never been so conscious of my penis before in my entire life,” Castiel said, and Dean laughed, throwing his head back. Castiel had seen him laugh before, but never like that, unguarded and delighted. It was captivating.

“I bet,” Dean said after he’d calmed down, still smiling widely, and Castiel found himself smiling reluctantly back. “Is it comfortable?”

Castiel looked down, turning serious once again. He didn’t think he could call it comfortable, but as Dean had said, it wasn’t painful. 

“It’s . . .” He swallowed. “It’s different.”

“It doesn’t hurt though? Or pinch anywhere?”

Pinch? 

“No,” he said, cautiously shifting a little in order to be sure, but while the weight was strange, that was all. The worry that had been building up all evening finally draining away. “No, none of that.”

“Well, alright then. Looks like we’re good to go,” Dean said, and Castiel’s fingers tightened around his forearms, but he kept them behind his back.

“So I should probably explain. This,” Dean said, gently touching the metal surrounding Castiel’s cock, as if Castiel was somehow going to mistake what he was referring to, “isn’t the typical cock cage. See how you’re not all the way to the tip?” 

Castiel’s breath hitched as Dean casually gripped the cage, tilting it up. There was so much space between the bars that he could feel Dean’s skin against him, and now that the anxiety was fading, Castiel’s cock had apparently decided it could start responding again. 

But—he thought the whole point of a cage was to keep that from happening.

“That’s ‘cause this gives you room to get hard. Not completely hard, of course, but partway. With a standard cock cage, you actually want the fit to be as close as possible so you can’t get any bigger, but that would’ve meant getting the ruler out and measuring, and I didn’t want to wait. Good thing too, since we needed it right away,” Dean said, winking.

Castiel frowned back at him, not that it had much effect, other than to make Dean smile more.

“Another perk of this bad boy is that once you get hard, you stay hard. The cock ring keeps you from going soft, so you either have to come, or I have to unlock you. Guess which one it’s going to be?”

Castiel could feel the first inklings of panic start to build. One of the main reasons he’d chosen this option was that he’d thought he wouldn’t get aroused—although now that he thought about it, that had been a stupid assumption to make. Arousal was more than just physical, and not being able to get erect didn’t mean he wouldn’t be excited. Which meant that what he’d really done was choose to be aroused _all the time_. And Dean had implied he wasn’t going to let Castiel orgasm _or_ let him out of the cage for days. _Days._

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Castiel asked, desperately aiming for composure. “Because at our last session, you said—”

Dean thankfully lowered Castiel’s bound cock before waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know what I said. I might’ve been making it sound worse than it’s actually going to be. Not that I wouldn’t love to lock you up for days,” Dean hastened to add, as if he were trying to reassure Castiel of all things, “but sadly, you can’t just jump into chastity like that. Like I said, there’s all the measuring involved, and even then, there’s no guarantee it’ll fit; things are a lot squishier down there than you might think. The difference between a good and bad fit might be a quarter of an inch, and let me tell you, that is one fucking important quarter of an inch. Besides, you have to build up to long-term confinement. So we’ll see how these two weeks go, and then maybe . . .” Dean shrugged.

Castiel relaxed slightly at the knowledge that Dean hadn’t been serious about the length of time he’d be locked up, but he wasn’t sure how to deal with all the information he’d just received. He hadn’t known any of it before, but Dean was apparently very educated in cock cages—and very interested as well. This wasn’t just a punishment, Castiel realized. Dean would want his Seller to wear a cage frequently, if not all the time, and Castiel had no idea if he’d be able to handle that.

“Does this mean that you’ll want me to gradually wear this cage more and more?”

“This one?” Dean shook his head. “No, this one’s purely for edging. You’re not really supposed to wear a metal cock ring with an erection for longer than thirty minutes, so we’ll take it off during every session. Not to say you’ll get to _come_ every session,” Dean said, showing teeth, “but we’ll definitely take it off. But enough shop talk. Let’s get started.”

Castiel was tempted to ask for more shop talk in order to delay the inevitable, but the thirty minutes warning made him reconsider. He wasn’t fully erect yet, but why take chances? He definitely didn’t want to find out what happened if a person wore a cock ring for too long.

Dean had him lie down on the bed and hold on to the spindles of the headboard. 

“If you want to stop at any point, just let go. We’ll take a breather, and once you’re ready, we’ll start up again. If you want to stop completely, say your safeword, and I’ll take the cage off. Understand?”

“Yes, Dean,” he said, his heart already racing even though they hadn’t done anything yet. It was the possibility of what they _would_ do—or what Dean would do to him—that had him holding on so tightly to the headboard.

“Good,” Dean said, and he smiled, brushing Castiel’s hair away from his forehead, before moving between his legs.

Dean took his time. He explored Castiel’s body, letting his hands wander leisurely, mapping out all the areas that made Castiel shiver and his breath stutter. Castiel had begun the session expecting to be virtually ignored while he administered to Dean, and he could admit there’d been a small part of him that had looked forward to it, not because the thought of being denied interested him so much, but because he’d finally be able to touch Dean. Castiel really wanted to touch him. 

If anything, however, it was the other way around. 

Dean had yet to take off any of his clothes, had never completely disrobed in front of him, Castiel realized, and the thought had his hands flexing, making it a fight to keep them where they were. He didn’t know why it mattered that he still hadn’t been allowed to touch Dean, but it did. He wasn’t normally a selfish lover, always attempted to bring his partner pleasure before searching for his own, and that was part of it, he was sure, and but the bigger part was that he wanted to. He wanted, and—

“You’re thinking too hard, Cas,” Dean said, tapping Castiel on his thigh. “I obviously need to do something about that.”

Castiel let out a deep, shocked grunt when Dean took the tip of Castiel’s cock into his mouth, cage and all, and immediately started sucking.

He didn’t know how Dean had been aware that he’d been distracted, but Dean had his full attention now as Castiel stared down his body to see green eyes looking back at him, the corners crinkling in a smile. 

Castiel had been as erect as he could get within the cage already, but this was different. “D-Dean!” he gasped, fighting to keep his hips from arching off the bed as his cock swelled further, afraid of hurting Dean. 

It was—he couldn’t quite describe what it was like to be pushed further and further with nowhere to go. It didn’t quite hurt, but it skirted the edge of pain as his cock tried to escape the confines of its cage. The metal trapped him, kept him from straightening or filling up completely, even as his body determinedly insisted it needed to grow further.

Dean’s hands settled on Castiel’s hips. “Uh, uh, uh,” he said, his voice chiding as he lifted his head. “Don’t make me tie you down, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t know what he would’ve said to Dean’s threat—although he was sure it would’ve been highly embarrassing if the way his cock throbbed was any indication—because Dean began licking him through the cage, and Castiel doubted that anything could’ve distracted him from the sight of it.

Castiel honestly couldn’t say how long Dean was at it, although if Dean were to be believed, the whole thing didn’t last more than thirty minutes. It felt much longer than that, however, much longer, as Dean teased and tormented him, and by the end, Castiel was seriously considering saying his safeword, because he didn’t know if he could take much more. He’d had lovers who had prolonged sex by stopping for a while, but it was only for a few seconds and never like this. Dean took him nearly to the pinnacle time and time again—only to pull back in order to suck on his testicles or flick his tongue against the shaft of his cock, preventing further build-up, but refusing to let him calm down much either.

Dean wasn’t even doing very much by the end of it, didn’t _need_ to do much, because the slightest touch to Castiel’s cock had him moaning. His body was so tense that his muscles were trembling from exhaustion, but that didn’t stop him from straining towards Dean’s hands or mouth every time they got close. Castiel was begging so much that he doubted he’d be able to look his reflection in the eye again, but he couldn’t care at that point, because everything was subsumed by his need for release. He knew that he couldn’t die from not orgasming, but he _felt_ like he could, and he suspected he might be on the verge of crying.

“Shhh,” Dean crooned, stroking Castiel’s thighs firmly. “It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re gorgeous,” Dean said as he reached once more for Castiel’s cock, and Castiel let out a desperate groan. He didn’t want to disappoint Dean, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t—

“We’re done. You were so good for me,” Dean said, and Castiel could hear and _feel_ when the cage opened, blood rushing in, and he grit his teeth. 

“Just perfect,” Dean said, gently pulling the cage and ring completely free. 

A part of Castiel thought that surely Dean would let him orgasm now, that Dean hadn’t meant everything he’d said before about waiting, because he needed to come so badly, and Dean had always let him find relief before.

He kept thinking that as Dean put the cock cage aside, as he lay down next to Castiel and held his face gently, pressing soft kisses to his temple and cheeks.

“Please, Dean,” Castiel whispered, his voice ragged, his hips rolling to the side and shifting closer in a search for friction—only to be kept back by Dean’s hand. 

“Not this time,” Dean said, and when he leaned in next, he kissed Castiel for real, his mouth covering his, tracing the seam of Castiel’s lips with his tongue even as they opened to let him in further. Dean had never kissed him before.

It didn’t make up for the lack of orgasm, but it went a long way in keeping Castiel silent and still as he soaked in Dean’s kisses, the heat of his mouth, the way their tongues slid together. It would’ve been easy to rile Castiel up further, but Dean kept things soft and languid, soothing instead of inciting as Dean tugged Castiel’s arms down so they finally released their death grip on the headboard. Castiel moaned as Dean started massaging them, and he felt Dean’s answering smile against his lips.

Eventually, even the kissing ended, and Dean turned Castiel until his back was pressed to Dean’s chest. They lay like that for a long time, Dean stroking Castiel’s arm and chest.

“How are you feeling, Cas?” Dean asked, finally breaking the quiet.

“Horny,” Castiel groused, and Dean laughed, his body shaking behind Castiel’s.

“Other—other than that,” Dean said, still snickering. “Anything hurt?”

“No. I am . . . alright,” he said, echoing Dean’s earlier statement. He could tell their session was winding down, and he had to stifle the urge to wrap Dean’s arm securely around himself.

“Did you like it?”

“Until the end,” Castiel said waspishly. Fairness, however, made him admit a second later, “I’ve never done anything quite like that before.”

“Do you want to do it again?” Dean asked, and there was nothing to give him away, no change in voice or body, but Castiel knew how important his answer was to their contract, so he took a moment to give it the proper consideration.

The build-up had been intense. Amazing. He shivered unconsciously thinking about it, and his cock flexed against his thigh. 

The ending, however . . . He honestly didn’t know how many times he could do that without coming even once.

“Are you . . .?” He wished he had pulled Dean’s arm around him after all. “Are you really not going to let me come at all these next two weeks?” he asked the wall, purposefully not turning around to look at Dean.

During their initial interview, Dean had said one of his terms was that Castiel not masturbate during their time together unless expressly given permission, and Castiel had agreed immediately, because of course he wouldn’t masturbate. Why would he need to?

Now, however, he wished he had fought that restriction; at least insisted he get to to once every few days, or once a week at minimum.

“We’ll see,” Dean said, and Castiel immediately tensed. Dean sighed. “Look, I know you’re a newbie, okay? The last thing I want you to do is learn to hate it.”

That was true. It was in Dean’s best interests to not have to start over again with a new Seller when he was looking for a longer contract. But Castiel couldn’t make himself fully relax.

“Cas,” Dean said, getting up on one elbow and leaning over him. “Cas, look at me.”

Castiel reluctantly turned toward him. “Yes, Dean,” he said automatically.

Dean’s face softened. “I’m going to take care of you, okay? I promise. I will.”

He searched Dean’s expression, but there was nothing but sincerity to be found. “Yes, Dean,” he said and reached out hesitantly, stroking the side of his finger down Dean’s cheek.

\-----

Dean didn’t let him come in the morning session or the afternoon one. By the time the evening session arrived, Castiel had spent much more time in the pool and shower than he’d ever planned for just one day, and just thinking about Dean was enough to get him fully erect.

It was . . . frustrating.

Perhaps he would’ve been able to focus his attention on things other than the almost constant simmer of arousal, but for all of the comforts that Dean’s house provided, there wasn’t much to do. Castiel could only watch so much television, he didn’t enjoy playing video games or pool when he was the only participant, and he was too restless to get started on a new book. He typically had no problem being by himself, but the enforced solitude was wearing, especially since Dean made himself scarce when they weren’t eating or in the Service Room. It was one thing for Castiel to decide to be alone; it was something altogether different when he didn’t have a choice. 

Even seeing Dean during meals didn’t do much to alleviate the problem, because the Dean who sat down with him was entirely different from the Dean who teased him mercilessly.

The Dean who smiled genuinely at Cas and held him and drove him crazy with pleasure was not the same Dean who kept up a stream of conversation about the weather or various sports teams to Castiel and hid behind a wall of polite platitudes. There was a distance between them when they weren’t in session that Castiel had noticed, one that was made all the more obvious because Castiel had begun to develop a certain level of intimacy and companionship with Dean that couldn’t be ignored. There was something to be said, after all, about being naked and pleading in front of a person to break down the normal social process. Dean, however, didn’t appear to feel that same connection, at least, not yet, and Castiel wondered if part of that was because Dean was always the one overwhelming Castiel and never the other way around.

He didn’t know, and there was no way to find out the answer until Dean let him do more than hang on to the headboard for dear life.

Castiel frowned down at his penis, which was erect once more. At the beginning of that morning’s session, Dean had warned him that he’d have to ice Castiel’s cock if it didn’t fit into the cock cage, and Castiel had been sufficiently horrified that it hadn’t been a problem, but there was no reason to take chances. Time for another shower.

He was still soft when Dean locked the cock ring around him, but just barely. By this point, his body was well aware of the things that Dean would do to it, and it yearned for him, the blood rushing into Castiel’s cock as soon as it felt the now-familiar weight—not that it did him much good. He was expertly trapped, and it didn’t matter how much his cock swelled against the metal bars, he couldn’t escape.

Once Dean got started, it didn’t take long for Castiel to start begging, maybe minutes, maybe less. He knew it was due to the fact that he’d been brought to the brink of orgasm multiple times in the past day, but it was still humiliating to know how quickly Dean could reduce him to this level, to know that Dean had more control over his body than he did.

It was hard to care, however, when Dean was stroking his cock, above the cage and through it, when Dean’s fingers were rolling his testicles and rubbing behind them.

“Oh!” Castiel breathed, undulating into Dean’s caresses, his legs shamefully wide. Dean permitted it, his hands sure and firm as they brought him that much closer to completion.

It built and built until Castiel was gasping for each breath, until he was whispering, “Don’t stop,” in a constant stream, and he could feel his orgasm surging, immense and slightly terrifying in its intensity—and then Dean pulled away completely. 

Castiel cried out, his hips thrusting upward spasmodically in shock at the sudden loss, and he could feel tears starting to prick the corners of his eyes.

“I’m not stopping,” Dean said, massaging his legs, soothing him. “It’s alright. I’m just getting started.”

“Don’t make me wait anymore,” Castiel pleaded, curling into himself as much as he could with Dean in the way, his cock throbbing painfully. “Please, Dean, I can’t take it, I can’t—” He let out a shuddering breath. “Please, please.”

“Just how much do you want to come, Cas?” Dean asked, brushing his fingertips over the base of the cock cage, and Castiel shuddered.

“So much,” he whispered, opening himself once again to Dean’s hand, because he couldn’t pass up any opportunity to have Dean touch him, even now.

“Then prove it to me.”

Castiel blinked watery eyes and gazed at Dean, confused.

“What are you willing to do for it?” Dean asked, tilting his head.

“Anything,” he said, and there was a part of him that meant that literally.

“Even if that means choking on my cock?” Dean asked, and Castiel blinked at him. It took him a moment to clear the cobwebs from his mind, because while it’d be easy to assume Dean meant simple oral sex, there was something in the tone of his voice that said otherwise. 

“What . . . do you mean by that exactly?”

“I mean, I’d like to push my cock into your throat as far as I can and fuck you like that until I come,” Dean said calmly, and Castiel realized that Dean wanted him to deep-throat him. Which wouldn’t be a problem except Castiel hadn’t ever been able to do that before. But Dean wasn’t asking if Castiel _could_ do it—he probably assumed he couldn’t, which had Castiel feeling slightly miffed, even thought it was true; he was asking if Castiel were willing to _try_ in exchange for an orgasm, and from the way Dean had phrased himself, Castiel had to _keep_ trying until Dean came.

“I won’t hurt you,” Dean said, and Castiel searched his eyes, but he already believed him.

“Yes, Dean. Even that.”

Dean smiled, looking proud for a moment, although Castiel didn’t know why, and he squeezed Castiel’s knee gently. 

“Alright, let’s see if you actually mean it,” Dean said and started crawling up Castiel’s body.

Castiel would never have thought a man crawling would come off quite so predatory, but there was nothing silly or submissive about the look on Dean’s face, and he could feel his eyes getting wider and wider until Dean was straddling his chest.

“Have you ever tried this before?” Dean asked as he started undoing his belt, and fuck, this was actually going to happen. Dean was undressing. Finally. Castiel was going to suck his cock.

Oh shit, Castiel thought, his thighs clenching together as his own cock futilely tried once more to straighten.

“Yes,” he said, and Castiel had been raised to always look a person in the eye when he was addressing him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Dean’s groin. Castiel had felt it against him a time or two during the end of a session, and he’d been able to tell that Dean wasn’t hiding his penis because he was embarrassed by its size, but Castiel had never had the chance to really look at it. If the bulge that was inches from his face was any indication, however, Dean was . . . really big. 

“Did you like it?” Dean undid the button, and the zipper started sliding down on its own from the tension.

Castiel hesitated, because he hadn’t, but did it really serve his purposes to admit as much to Dean? 

“Tell me the truth, Cas,” Dean said, apparently knowing the cause of Castiel’s silence.

“No, Dean,” he said softly, finally looking away from Dean’s crotch in order to peek at his expression. Dean didn’t seem upset.

“‘Cause you gagged and started coughing, right?”

Castiel felt his eyebrows raise, but he supposed everyone went through the same experience.

“Yes, Dean.”

“But you want to come so much right now that you’re going to let me do it anyway.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Well, alright then. Put your arms by your side, Cas.” He lifted first one leg and then the other in order to make room for Castiel to do as he’d ordered and then shifted until his thighs were framing Castiel’s head.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Dean repeated.

“I know, Dean,” Castiel said, which earned him a softening of Dean’s expression and fingers carding through his hair.

“We’re just going to try it. You want to safeword, all you gotta do is pinch me—hard—and I’ll stop. Understand?”

“Yes, Dean,” he said, although his attention was elsewhere. The zipper of Dean’s jeans had gone down even further, and all the moving had made it so Dean’s cock had fully straightened instead of curving to the side. Castiel had been right. Dean was big. Lengthwise, he was probably between six and seven inches, so above average but nothing Castiel hadn’t seen before. The thing that made Castiel stare was how thick Dean was. Because he was. Very. Not so thick that Castiel worried it’d be physically impossible to accommodate him, but thick enough that he knew it wouldn’t be comfortable. No wonder Dean felt the need to ask if Castiel were willing to do this for him. He clutched the sheet in his hands as Dean pushed his clothes down.

“Look at me,” Dean said, and Castiel’s eyes snapped up so he could gaze at Dean’s face. “Keep your eyes up here. Or you can close them if you want,” he said, and Castiel promptly shut them. He could hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he said, “That’s fine. I’m going to take care of everything, alright, Cas? All you have to do is what I tell you.”

“Yes, Dean,” he said, his voice sounding gritty and raw already, as if he’d already taken Dean deep into his throat, and he had no idea what he’d sound like by the end of it.

“Good. You’re going to be so good, Cas. Open your mouth for me,” Dean said, and Castiel obeyed, letting it fall open slightly and then wider as he reconsidered. “That’s it. Lick the tip, Cas, all the way around. It’ll be easier if you get it wet.”

He shivered and did as he was told, licking with the flat of his tongue, trying to mentally measure the circumference by feel alone. It was definitely going to strain his jaw.

And it did. The dull pain began building soon after Dean started, sliding in and out of his mouth in slow thrusts that never went too far as he gave Castiel a chance to get used to his girth. Castiel tried to keep his teeth out of the way, but he couldn’t get the hang of it when he was stretched so wide, and he’d flinch every time his teeth grazed Dean’s cock, even if Dean didn’t comment or act like he’d noticed. 

“I’m going to push in for five seconds, Cas, and then pull back. If you start gagging, I’ll pull back immediately, alright?”

Castiel’s eyes blinked open, and he looked up at Dean, flushing when he saw Dean was watching. Of course Dean was watching; what else would he be doing? 

There was no way for Castiel to respond verbally, so he grunted to signal his understanding and clenched his eyes close once again.

Castiel’s gag reflex wasn’t too sensitive, so it wasn’t a problem when Dean started to press in, but he couldn’t stop the upswell of anxiety as he suddenly stopped breathing. He knew it was _possible_ to breathe through his nose, but it didn’t feel like it, even though Dean wasn’t being forceful. He felt _huge_ though, and the pressure at the back of Castiel’s throat was starting to make him panic. 

How long had it been? Surely five seconds had passed by now?

“You have no idea how hot you look right now,” Dean said roughly before finally, finally pulling back.

Castiel sucked in a lungful of air, his eyes popping open and automatically searching for Dean’s.

“You’re okay, Cas,” Dean said, using the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight to stroke Castiel’s forehead, his cheek. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

It took a second for Castiel to understand what he meant since Dean was already touching him, but then he nodded, tilting his hips up to make it easier for Dean to reach him. The cock ring didn’t let him get soft, although, truthfully, he wasn’t sure he would’ve gone down anyway. Even with the worry he’d felt, arousal still bubbled inside of him. Castiel hadn’t liked it the last couple of times he’d tried to deep-throat someone, but there was something to be said about doing it for Dean like this.

“Five more seconds,” Dean warned. “You could try holding your breath if you think it’ll make you more comfortable, or exhaling as I push in. Ready? Then open up,” he said, tapping his cock against Castiel’s lips, and Castiel did.

Exhaling did help, a lot actually, both for breathing and for letting Dean slide further into his throat—although perhaps it was less the exhaling and more the way Dean reached back and started pinching and rolling Castiel’s nipple, he wasn’t sure. Castiel had assumed Dean meant he’d play with Castiel’s cock, but he supposed that logistically that wasn’t feasible without the both of them being much more limber than they actually were.

Either way, however, Castiel barely felt any of the panic he’d experienced before, and he was almost disappointed when Dean pulled out. Five seconds was no time at all.

“Yeah,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Just like that, shit.”

By the time Dean came, Castiel felt almost drunk. Dean never went past five seconds, although Castiel would’ve been fine if he had, would’ve told him as much, except Dean stopped pulling out completely, would just rest his cock in Castiel’s mouth as he breathed, and Castiel wouldn’t have pushed him off of him for anything. 

He’d had partners in the past that he hadn’t enjoyed performing oral sex on, and he’d had other partners that he’d enjoyed doing it for very much, and Dean definitely fell into latter category. Yes, Castiel’s jaw hurt, but he truthfully wasn’t doing much other than keeping his mouth open, trying to relax, and occasionally licking at Dean’s cock, so it was bearable. Dean tasted good, and it felt satisfying in a way Castiel couldn’t explain to have him in his mouth, to be a vessel for his pleasure after all the times when Castiel hadn’t been able to do anything. Best of all, however, Dean sounded . . .

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as sexy as your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Castiel had forgotten how talkative Dean could be during sex—probably because Dean had frequently kept his mouth busy with driving Castiel wild. He’d had vocal lovers before, but there was something about the noises Dean made and the gruffness of his voice in combination with his words that had Castiel feeling like he could keep going forever, even if it meant waiting that much longer to be able to come.

“You’re going to swallow for me, aren’t you, Cas?” Dean asked breathlessly, and Castiel moaned. “Good boy, you’re so good, Cas. Fuck, you’re so good.”

Dean grabbed the sides of Castiel’s hair and held him still while he thrust in and out of Castiel’s mouth, chasing his own climax but still so very careful with him, pushing Castiel but never further than he could handle. When Dean came with a raspy groan, Castiel swallowed everything and lapped at the head of Dean’s cock when he was finished in search of more. He wanted to take whatever Dean was willing to give him, and the soreness in his jaw and throat felt right, felt like proof that he was just as good as Dean had said he was.

He had to gasp for breath when Dean pulled out, and the absence of Dean in his mouth hurt worse than the ache that had developed, a feeling that he was missing something now. He was so wrapped up in the sensation that he jumped in surprise when Dean touched his cock, but once Dean did, all the desire that Castiel had been keeping at bay boiled to the top, and it only took seconds of Dean’s hand roughly stroking him for Castiel to come after the cage was gone. He clung to Dean throughout it, burying his face in Dean’s neck as he shook and moaned, his limbs jerking every which way from the pleasure that was so sharp, it was excruciating, and Dean held him, murmuring to him all the while.

\-----

It was strange how nothing really changed after that. Castiel couldn’t say what he’d been expecting, but he’d been expecting _something_ , even though there wasn’t really a reason for it other than an itch in the back of his mind. Dean continued to be the good host during meals, but then he’d leave and wouldn’t show his face again until it was time for a session. Castiel didn’t understand what the point of not wanting him to talk to anyone was if he couldn’t talk to Dean either, but he didn’t complain. He was being highly compensated for his time. He didn’t have the right to complain.

Time would’ve gone by incredibly slowly if it weren’t for their sessions. There’d been a small, naive part of him that had hoped that his punishment was over after Dean had finally allowed him to orgasm and that he wouldn’t have to wear the cock cage anymore. It died a quick death, however, when Dean pulled out the cage again at the next session.

“I thought we were done with the cock cage,” Castiel said, and it was ridiculous how his heart started speeding up at the sight of the shiny metal.

“Now, why would you think that?” Dean asked, fiddling with the lock absently.

“You said it was to keep me from orgasming until you let me, but last night you—”

“I never said it’d just be once, though. I’m pretty sure I said something along the lines of making sure you don’t come again until I let you. So what are you implying, Cas? You don’t want to come again until after you leave?”

“No!” he said, perhaps a little more forcefully than he’d intended.

“Alright then. Get over here.”

And Castiel went.

He didn’t expect Dean to let him orgasm that day, although he couldn’t help but be disappointed when he was proven correct. Being denied felt ten times more frustrating than before, even with his recent release—or maybe because of it. His sessions with Dean had always been a double-edged sword, but that had been when he thought he knew how good the orgasm would be. Now that he _actually_ knew, it made him all the more eager to reach that same level of pleasure and all the more desperate when Dean withheld it from him.

He had never experienced anything that intense before. It had literally been the best thing he’d ever felt that he could remember, and Castiel didn’t know what to think about that. Dean had only edged him for one day. One day. What would it feel like after two days? Three? Castiel was starting to believe the claims people made about achieving euphoria, and it was like getting a glimpse of the gate to Heaven, knowing that no matter how spectacular it was, he was really only catching the barest hint of what was really there. 

Castiel had thought he’d hate the orgasm denial—and he did, it was evil—so what did it say about him that he was starting to want it anyway? 

What worried him even more, however, was that while he might dread and anticipate each session in equal measure, it was the end that he was beginning to need like water, when Dean comforted him and told him how pleased he was with him, when Dean pressed kisses to his skin and promised that he’d take care of him. He cherished those moments of closeness and approval, and he drew on their memory to get through each session, to keep his hands where they belonged instead of straying. The thought of disappointing Dean was becoming something to be avoided at all costs, and Castiel didn’t know what he was going to do. This was supposed to just be a job, but how was he going to go back to his regular life after it was all over?

\-----

By the night of the third consecutive day of no relief, he’d changed his mind. He loathed the cage and everything it represented, and he never wanted to see it again.

“Please don’t make me wear it, Dean,” Castiel said, his voice raspy, as he made his reluctant way to Dean. “I can’t do it.”

“You can’t, huh?” Dean reached out and stroked Castiel’s swollen cock just once, nearly making his knees buckle. “Why not?”

Castiel didn’t have an answer, all the reasons he’d come up with last night while he’d tossed and turned in bed bursting into nothingness at Dean’s touch. He couldn’t think when he was around Dean, barely managed to do more than beg and try to negotiate with increasingly wild promises if only Dean would just let him come. Cold showers were barely helpful anymore, and Dean had finally had to follow through with his threat to ice Castiel’s cock the night before. Castiel had yelled loud enough that Dean had flinched back, even with probably expecting his reaction, but Castiel could hardly get any satisfaction from it considering here he was, once again in the same situation, the threat of that frigid cold looming over him.

His cock flexed against his stomach, completely oblivious to the torment awaiting it.

“Don’t worry, Cas,” Dean said, sliding his hand down the back of Castiel’s thigh. “I’m going to help you,” he said, reaching out for the glass of ice on the bedstand, and Castiel whimpered wretchedly.

“Please, Dean, I can’t, I can’t,” he said, minutes, _hours_ later, and he couldn’t believe how broken he sounded. He didn’t know if Dean tying his hands to the headboard made it easier or harder to bear, because now that he couldn’t move his hands, it was as if his body wanted to all that much more, twisting and curving towards Dean helplessly. “Please, let me come. I’ll suck your cock if you just—I want to, I do, I’ll be so good. I know I can do a better job than last time. I’ll get you all the way down my throat, I swear,” he said, as if it’d make a difference somehow, as if he hadn’t tried this tactic the session before, or the session before that.

“But I don’t want you to suck me,” Dean said, the same answer he’d given both times already. But then he added, “Do you want to know what I do want, Cas?” and Castiel latched onto the opportunity like a lifeline.

“Whatever you want, I’ll do anything, I will, please, _please_ , Dean.”

“Anything?” Dean asked, arching an eyebrow.

Which was how Castiel came to be fucking himself with a dildo five minutes later, sobbing out every breath as he hammered away at his prostate, anxiously trying to keep track of the passing seconds. 

He couldn’t stop thinking of what Dean had told him. “If you can come from this before the thirty minutes are up, then I’ll believe you. This cage doesn’t stop you from coming; it just makes it harder,” he’d said, winking. “So if you really want it, then show me, Cas. Show me how much.”

And Castiel was trying, driving the toy into him for all he was worth, heedless of the fact that Dean was watching every obscene move he made. Castiel _needed_ to come. He thought about sex _all the time_ , his testicles ached on and off throughout the day, he felt like he spent most of his day at least partially if not fully erect, and it was getting to the point where he was contemplating what Dean would do if Castiel masturbated and was found out. 

Punish him some more? It couldn’t be worse than this. Withhold some money? Castiel might be willing to sacrifice a few hundred dollars if it meant he was able to orgasm. 

That was dangerous thinking, however, and he knew it, but the loss seemed more and more acceptable with each session, which made climaxing on the dildo all the more imperative.

But while the pressure against his prostate was amazing, he really wasn’t getting anywhere. Or at least, he wasn’t getting there fast enough. 

He groaned helplessly, his eyes fluttering open and meeting Dean’s—Dean who was watching, who was always watching, and Castiel should’ve been used to that by now, but he still managed to be caught off guard. By this point, there shouldn’t be anything Dean could ask for that would embarrass him any further—hadn’t Dean already seen him desperate and begging and crying?—but then Dean would ask for something new, and Castiel would feel another burst of arousal and shame.

Castiel squeezed his eyes closed again, as if blocking the sight of Dean would somehow make it so Dean couldn’t see him desperate and crazed either; as if shutting Dean out would make it so Castiel couldn’t feel the weight of Dean’s gaze on his skin. 

He shuddered and forced his mind to another topic. How much time did he have left? Dean had said he had thirteen minutes when he’d given him the dildo, but Castiel had had to use some of that to stretch himself since Dean rarely played with his hole, preferring to focus his attention on Castiel’s bound cock. Considering the burn, Castiel should’ve probably done more, but he hadn’t wanted to let his time run down. 

Assuming he’d taken one minute to prepare himself, that still had left him with twelve minutes. How much time had passed since then, though? Five minutes? Seven? More? Castiel had been so confident that twelve minutes would be more than enough time, especially since Castiel knew exactly where and how to stimulate his prostate, but . . .

Castiel made a frustrated sound as he ground down on the dildo. He’d genuinely thought he’d come after a few strokes, he was so on edge, but he hadn’t, and now his thighs were starting to tremble, and his prostate was beginning to feel oversensitized from all the abuse he was heaping on it, and the cage was so tight that he’d swear he could feel each individual bar. It hurt but the ache was something he’d become all too familiar with recently, and while that didn’t make it less painful, it made it easier to bear somehow. 

[](http://s1077.photobucket.com/user/blue-jack/media/beestiels_dcbb_2015_art_01_small_zpsetq1vsth.jpg.html)

What he wasn’t accustomed to, however, was the sway of the cage as he rocked onto the dildo and fucked himself with the toy, and that was getting more and more distracting the longer he went. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Castiel had been allowed to hold the metal still, but Dean hadn’t trusted him to refrain from masturbating, and honestly, Castiel wouldn’t have trusted himself either. He hadn’t gone against Dean’s rules yet, but if his fingers already touching his cock when he was this close and this frustrated, he wouldn’t have been able to resist.

“One—” Dean cleared his throat. “One minute,” he said, and Castiel had never heard him sound like that before, hoarse and completely wrecked, especially considering Dean had been uncharacteristically silent ever since Castiel had gotten started, eschewing his normal filthy encouragements. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to care too much at the moment, however, not considering the news Dean had imparted.

One minute? How could he only have one minute left? He wasn’t ready.

“Dean, please, _please_ ,” he gasped, and he ignored the soreness in his thighs and groin and started bouncing back on the dildo faster, speeding up his thrusts. “I can’t—”

He wasn’t going to make it. He wasn’t going to make it, and who knew how long Dean would make him wait again after this. 

Castiel sucked in a strangled breath, trying to stop the tears that were leaking from the corners of his eyes. He was a grown man, but Dean brought him to tears all the damn time, and over what? The lack of an orgasm? How was that reason enough? What was Dean doing to him?

“Please,” he whispered hopelessly, his shoulders hitching. “Please.”

His eyes popped open when Dean gripped his chin, lifting his head up, and he stared up at Dean like a supplicant at the feet of a god.

“Time,” Dean said, and the tears spilled over onto Castiel’s cheeks.

“Dean . . .”

“I know. I know, Cas.” Dean brushed his thumb over Castiel’s cheekbone, smearing the wetness. “You are . . . one of the best things I’ve ever had,” Dean said, and Castiel shuddered, leaning into Dean’s hand. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Castiel whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry. It’s okay,” Dean said, kissing his forehead and smiling. “We’ll keep trying until you can.”

And perhaps the idea should’ve made Castiel worry, but he felt a surge of gratitude instead that he hadn’t disappointed Dean, that he’d have another opportunity to please him.

“On all fours now,” Dean ordered with one last caress against Castiel’s face, and Castiel scrambled to obey.

He cried some more when Dean took the cock ring off of him and blood rushed to fill his cock, huge silent tears that made his eyes and pride sting, the knowledge that Dean would hold him soon all that kept him together.

He closed his eyes when Dean pulled the dildo out—only to snap them back open when Dean’s fingers took its place.

“No orgasm today, Cas, but I’m going to make it better,” Dean promised, and Castiel nodded frantically, so, so thankful that he could feel the tears falling faster. He had no idea what Dean was planning to do, but the knowledge that Dean would do _something_ for him was overwhelming.

He hiccuped when Dean brushed over his prostate, his hips jerking, and then Dean did it again, not thrusting his fingers, just massaging the same spot more firmly this time, then again, and Castiel had the dawning suspicion he knew what he was planning to do. He lowered his chest down to the bed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to support himself.

Castiel had no frame of reference for what it would feel like, being milked, but Dean had said he’d make it better, and Castiel needed that to be true, needed to not feel like his body was a pile of tinder and any spark would set him aflame, so he didn’t protest, just reached out one hand to Dean and gripped his thigh to anchor himself. 

It was terrible in its own way, because Dean was playing with his prostate, and it just made the want and the arousal spiral that much higher. Add that to the fact that Castiel was oversensitive from everything he’d done before, which meant the pleasure carried a razor’s edge, making him grunt and twist under Dean, into and away from his touch, unable to form words for how desperately he needed to come and trying to find some way to rub against the bed to achieve that, for it to just to finished. Dean kept having to yank his hips back and up and finally barked a stern, “Cas!” to get him to be still.

The pressure grew and grew, until it became immense, until Castiel was sure it would spill over into orgasm—

And then it stopped, slowly ebbing away as he felt what could only be semen pulse onto the bed, spurt after spurt with none of the usual pleasure. Castiel sobbed but didn’t move away from Dean’s hand until it was over.

By the end of it, Castiel felt shaky and precariously emotional, and he couldn’t seem to let go of Dean, didn’t want to, just clung to him as Dean hugged him and whispered how good he’d been, fucking amazing, Cas, as Dean took off the cage and cleaned him off with wipes from the heated dispenser. 

Dean offered him a drink, the same as he always did after a session, and Castiel shook his head at first, but Dean said, “C’mon, just one sip, Cas, for me,” his voice achingly tender, and so Castiel took a drink and then ended up chugging three-quarters of the bottle before he’d finished, his fingers clenched around Dean’s shirt. He barely tasted the chocolate Dean fed him and really only started to feel calmer when he had Dean pressed all along his back and Dean’s arms were holding him close. Even then, something was missing, and he didn’t know what.

“Want to turn over?” Dean asked, and Castiel thought about it for a second before nodding, and yes, that was much better, being able to hide his face in the warmth of Dean’s body, and he began to settle at last.

Maybe it was the position they were in. Or maybe it was because Castiel didn’t have the normal frenzy of _now, now, now_ clouding his mind, even if his lust hadn’t exactly been sated. Whatever it was, for the first time since they’d started lying together, he realized Dean’s erection was pressing against him, and Castiel tensed up immediately in mortification. Dean had never come.

Dean pulled back slightly. “What’s wrong?”

But Castiel couldn’t reply, couldn’t admit that he didn’t deserve to be called “good” by Dean, because he’d gotten so caught up in the search for his own pleasure that he’d completely ignored Dean’s. Just like he always did. Which hadn’t seemed to matter before, because Dean was the one in control, and if he’d wanted Castiel to do something, he would’ve asked for it, but here was obvious proof that Dean did want, but that he didn’t ask! Castiel was failing in some way, and he hadn’t even known!

He would make it up to him, Castiel decided in a panic, fingers fumbling at Dean’s belt—except Dean placed his hand on top of Castiel’s and said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Castiel had been silent since Dean had milked him, hadn’t known what to say and had found it easier to just not say anything at all, but he couldn’t continue to be quiet at that, his voice hoarse as he said, “But you haven’t—”

“And I don’t need to,” Dean said, gently pressing Castiel’s head back down under his chin. 

Castiel’s hands curled back into Dean’s shirt. “But—”

“I’m good, Cas.” 

“But—”

“I think I remember saying that all you have to do is what I tell you to, Cas. That’s still true. I’m fine.”

Castiel frowned, giving up the battle for the time being, but he didn’t like it that Dean wouldn’t let him make him come. It made him wonder once again if Dean didn’t really want him, and that bothered him, more than he could say.

“It’s not the first time I haven’t come in a session,” Dean said, as if that were supposed to make Castiel feel better. He’d known, of course he had, but hearing Dean say it out loud was a surprise nonetheless. Castiel had known, but he’d never really thought about it before.

“Why?” he asked, grateful that Dean couldn’t see his expression, because Castiel doubted he could’ve hidden how hurt he suddenly felt.

Dean hummed. “Well, one, it’s just too much fun to get you going,” he said, and Castiel could hear the smile in his voice. He frowned further in response. “I only have thirty minutes, and I don’t want to waste them. I suppose I could use you afterward,” he said, and Castiel shivered unexpectedly at the thought, “but you’re just a baby really when it comes to this kind of stuff, and I didn’t want to push you too hard.”

All the tension that had been spreading through Castiel’s body began to ease at his words. With all the loneliness he’d been dealing with and all the sex that marked the passing of each day, he forgot how kind Dean was at times, even if that kindness was misplaced in this instance. Too much consideration he could deal with; lack of desire for him, however, he wouldn’t have known how to combat. “You could do it,” Castiel said, and then secure in the warmth and scent of Dean, he was able to add quietly, “I’d . . . like that.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s hands squeezed down on Castiel’s skin, and Castiel could hear the interest in his tone.

“Yes, Dean,” he whispered and sighed contently when Dean pulled him in impossibly closer.

Dean let out a thoughtful “mmm” but made no move to act on Castiel’s words just then, which he would just have to respect. Next time, however, was another story, and Castiel decided that he wouldn’t let Dean deny himself again. It was the reason he was there after all, and he—

He wanted Dean to do it.

The session must have been more draining than he’d thought, because Castiel fell asleep thinking about Dean and the things he wanted from him, and the next thing Castiel knew, it was dark outside, and Dean was starting to move away.

“Don’t go,” Castiel mumbled, pawing at Dean’s arms, because they weren’t around him anymore, and tried to pull them back in. He wasn’t ready for Dean to leave. Not yet.

“The session’s over, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Don’t you want to clean up and get ready for bed?”

“No.” He kept tugging until Dean was back where he was supposed to be. “Stay.”

When Castiel woke up the second time, it was morning, and he looked from the window where the sun was shining in to Dean’s face, then back again, and then once more. Sometime during the night, they’d finally drifted away from each other so they were no longer entwined, but they were still close, their bodies mere inches apart.

He remembered waking up, remembered demanding Dean be with him, and it was a good thing that Dean was still asleep, because Castiel wouldn’t have been able to face him otherwise.

They’d spent the night together. Castiel had _made_ Dean spend the night with him. He blushed furiously.

He couldn’t imagine what Dean was going to say when he woke up. Why had he humored him? Why hadn’t he insisted Castiel let him go? Or even just fully woken Castiel up? Dean had to have known that without the haze of sleep drugging him, Castiel would’ve realized what he was doing.

But Dean hadn’t done either of those things.

Castiel turned onto his side, careful not to move too much, and looked at Dean. It wasn’t something he got the chance to do often, at least, not without Dean looking back, and considering the types of situations where Castiel could watch Dean, he hadn’t had the fortitude to keep his eyes open.

Dean was so very handsome, beautiful almost, which wasn’t a word Castiel would use to describe many men but was appropriate for Dean. This close up, he was breathtaking, and Castiel had to stifle the urge to touch Dean’s face, to run his fingers over his eyebrows and down his cheeks, to trace Dean’s lips. It was much harder than he would’ve imagined, and even though he kept his hands to himself, the temptation was still there to lean in and press their lips together, not for sex, he thought with growing dismay, but just because he wanted to. Because he wanted to see Dean’s eyes open and have him say, “Good morning,” have him smile, because he was happy to see him.

Castiel wanted the privileges of a lover, not just a Seller, he realized, and the knowledge made him ache.

He barely knew anything about Dean. Except that he was kind. And tried to put Castiel at ease. That he always made sure Castiel knew what to expect and had his safeword ready. That he got pleasure from teasing Castiel until it was almost torture. But then he’d always hold him afterwards when Castiel needed him most. He knew that Dean had stayed in bed with him just because Castiel had asked him to, even though Dean’s normal routine was to leave, and Dean hadn’t even seemed irritated at the inconvenience. 

Maybe the surprise wasn’t that Castiel had feelings for him but that he hadn’t recognized them sooner.

Castiel was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t catch Dean’s eyelids start to flutter, and he only noticed Dean was awake when Dean jerked back with a loud, “Woah!”

He blinked as Dean held a hand to his chest and said, “Shit, Cas, give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, sitting up and turning his head to the side as he composed himself. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not that big a deal,” Dean said, and there was a hint of concern in his voice that Castiel didn’t want to acknowledge.

“My apologies for falling asleep last night during the session,” he said as he climbed out of bed, and he hadn’t cared that he was naked when Dean was asleep, but he cared now, and he scrambled to put on his clothes.

“Don’t worry about it. I fell asleep too.”

Yes, but Castiel had been the one to keep Dean in bed, and he should probably apologize for that as well, but he didn’t know how to put that in words without giving himself away. Dean didn’t want a lover. While Dean might have attributed Castiel’s actions last night to being overly tired, Castiel suspected that he’d give himself away if he tried to explain himself now. The realization of how he felt for Dean was too new and too close to the surface. He needed more time to hide his feelings away.

“Excuse me, I’m going to go shower,” he said and fled back to his room.

\-----

Castiel expected breakfast to be a strained affair, but it wasn’t. Dean acted the same as always, and eventually Castiel began to follow suit. Nothing had changed really. Yes, he wanted more from Dean than Dean was prepared to give, but it wasn’t the first time Castiel had had a . . . crush, for lack of a better word, on someone, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. The sex did complicate things, but surely now that Castiel knew this was a potential issue, he could regulate his feelings and responses and not let them get in the way of his duty as a Seller.

He would be fine. He would get past this.

That belief lasted up until Dean absently said, “Thanks, Cas,” in response to him passing the salt, and Castiel faltered, his hand halfway to his fork.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, noticing his hesitation.

“You called me ‘Cas,’” Castiel said, his heart racing. Being ‘Cas’ was only for the Service Room. It had never carried over anywhere else.

Dean blinked and then started to flush, red seeping across his face, and he raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Castiel said quietly, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly right. He liked the way Dean said his nickname, thought he might like it too much actually, the same way he liked _Dean_ too much. It was what Dean called him when he was the most true version of himself around Castiel, when he wasn’t maintaining the professional distance between them and was at his most affectionate. Was it any wonder Castiel enjoyed hearing it? “I was just surprised.”

He wasn’t going to get over this crush, he realized, not while he was in Dean’s home and in his bed. The fact that something as simple as a nickname broke down the flimsy walls Castiel had been trying to construct and filled him with hope proved that. But Dean hadn’t intended to say it, and Castiel couldn’t help but think maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d become emotionally invested when he hadn’t meant to. 

He tried to ignore that thought, however, because a slip of the tongue didn’t mean anything, especially when Dean was used to calling him “Cas,” said that much more frequently than “Castiel,” so of course, he’d get confused. Castiel thought he was successful enough, but he couldn’t help tensing when Dean said, “Well, I’ve got some stuff I’m working on, so I’m going to get going, Castiel,” his full name back in effect. 

He only said, “Of course, Dean,” though, and stood to clear the table. 

Dean paused momentarily before turning to leave. Only to turn back at the door. “Look, so I’ve been, um, fixing up a car an old friend of the family gave me. You ever work on cars?”

“No,” Castiel said, his fingers tightening on the plates in his hand.

“Oh.” Dean glanced at the door, took a step forward, and then hesitated again, looking back at him. “You, uh, you . . . want to learn?”

“Yes,” Castiel said quickly, collecting their utensils and glasses and haphazardly stacking them on top of the plate before Dean had a chance to change his mind. He hurried to the kitchen, putting everything in the sink for clean-up later, and perhaps he was being too obvious in his actions, but he wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to _do_ something—or to be with Dean. “I’m ready.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, and he was smiling. “Then let’s go.

 

\-----

“How are you doing, Castiel?” Uriel asked, a notepad in his lap.

“I’m doing well,” Castiel said, smoothing his pants legs down. It was a nervous gesture, but he felt a little nervous, so perhaps that shouldn’t be a surprise. Besides this being his first check-in as a Seller, he hadn’t interacted with anyone other than Dean in a week, and he had no idea what to say to Uriel. He probably would’ve been more at ease if they’d been sitting in one the rooms he’d grown familiar with, but Uriel had chosen one of the more formal rooms in the front of the house to conduct their meeting, and Castiel might as well have been in a stranger’s home for how uncomfortable he felt.

“That’s good to hear. How has your first week been?”

“Fine,” he said, not sure how he was supposed to describe his time with Dean. Intense. Eye-opening. Simultaneously extremely pleasurable and incredibly frustrating. 

“Fine?” Uriel asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He opened his mouth to say more—but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to share what he and Dean had done. “Fine.”

“I see.” Uriel made a notation on his pad. “How is the Buyer treating you?”

“Very well.”

Both eyebrows came up this time, and Castiel could tell Uriel was waiting for a lengthier answer, but he had nothing else to say. Everything else was private.

“Are you satisfied with the accommodations the Buyer is providing?”

Castiel nodded. “Dean has been very generous.”

“Is there anything you are having difficulty with?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you want to raise with me at all?”

“No, thank you.”

Uriel wrote another note on his pad.

“Would you say the physical demands of this assignment are as you expected, or are they more or less strenuous than you thought they would be?”

Castiel gave a long, slow blink. “I would say . . . that I was . . . well-prepared for the physical demands.”

“You sound uncertain.”

“Well. There is always a period of adjustment when starting anything new, but Dean—the Buyer—has been very understanding.”

Uriel made a considering noise. “And emotionally? Mentally? Would you say that you’re in good-health?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, or as good mental health as could be expected for someone with large debts who had just discovered he was harboring feelings for the man he was having sex with.

“Do you find yourself unduly attached to the Buyer?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Not unduly, no.”

Uriel gave him a look. “But you do feel attachment for him?

“I think the Buyer is a good man who has been very considerate and fair with me, and I do feel a certain connection to him, but as I said, I don’t feel unduly attached,” Castiel said levelly.

Uriel wrote something down. “And you feel capable of completing another week of service?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, although . . . he only had another week with Dean. Where had the time gone?

He answered the rest of Uriel’s questions as best as he could, but it rattled him to realize the clock was ticking down.

\-----

Falling in love with a Buyer wasn’t discouraged. Not that Castiel was in love. But he hadn’t been warned against it. It wasn’t exactly _en_ couraged, but Lordis understood that due to the nature of a Seller’s profession, it was bound to happen occasionally. 

There were certain procedures that the Buyer and Seller had to follow if they ever wanted to work with Lordis again in the future, as well as a penalty fee the Buyer paid, but that was all. So there really wasn’t much in the way of Castiel pursuing Dean. 

Except Dean himself.

It wasn’t fair of Castiel to expect Dean to entertain him or to spend all day with him. He knew that. But he’d hoped that after being allowed to accompany Dean yesterday, he’d be able to do so again during the other downtimes during the day.

That hadn’t happened, however, and the hours had passed all the more slowly because of it. Castiel didn’t think he’d done a horrible job of helping Dean as he worked on restoring his friend’s 1955 Ford Thunderbird, but maybe he had. Or maybe Dean just didn’t find him very entertaining outside the Service Room. Or maybe Dean was just working on something that he _couldn’t_ invite Castiel to join him in doing.

Castiel didn’t know, and he’d tried not to let it disturb him yesterday, but Uriel’s reminder that his days with Dean were numbered had upset him more than he liked to admit.

Added to that was the fact that Dean _still_ hadn’t used him after taking the cage off, and Castiel didn’t know why. Yes, it’d been less than two days since they discussed it, but three sessions had gone by with Dean doing nothing, and Castiel didn’t doubt it would’ve been four if the meeting with Uriel hadn’t taken place during their morning session. 

What was wrong with him that Dean wouldn’t take what was on offer? 

“How was your meeting?” Dean asked when they sat down for lunch.

“Fine,” Castiel said, his voice clipped, and he frowned at his hamburger, which looked unreasonably delicious. He wasn’t hungry, but it seemed a waste to not eat, especially when he’d only be allowed to eat Dean’s cooking for another week. 

He took a large bite, but even chewing determinedly, it was forever before he managed to swallow.

Dean was abnormally quiet for the duration of the meal, which further soured Castiel’s mood for some reason, and he barely looked at Dean, focusing all his attention on the food he pushed from one side of his plate to the other.

“Look,” Dean said when Castiel finally shoved his chair back in order to clear the table. “I’ve got a few things I need to focus on today, so why don’t you take a break, no sessions, and we’ll pick back up tomorrow morning?”

Castiel froze, halfway out of his chair, and it took him much too long to get going again. “Alright,” he said, blindly reaching out to pick up something off the table and then turning with it toward the kitchen and away from Dean.

“You, uh, you okay, Cas?”

Cas. Again.

He nodded, not in answer but in acknowledgment of Dean’s question, and kept walking until he was alone in the kitchen.

\-----

Castiel would never have guessed that _not_ being teased could be worse than being teased, but with no afternoon or night session, he felt like he was going to explode. He had a lot of pent-up energy that he had no idea what to do with, and he felt antsy and lonely and miserable. He couldn’t fall asleep, even after lying in bed for over an hour. Pacing didn’t help, showering didn’t help, and out of the two things that might have worked, masturbating was strictly forbidden, and there was no way in hell that he was going to knock on Dean’s door and ask to be held.

It was the worst he’d felt the entire time he’d been at Dean’s house, and as he continued to toss and turn, he started getting angry. 

Was it too much to ask that Dean be predictable? That he treat Castiel in one way and one way alone instead of giving him conflicting signals? Hadn’t Castiel done everything he wanted? Dean kept saying he was good, but if he really believed that, then wouldn’t he have showed it somehow? Words weren’t enough, and Castiel needed—

He just needed, he thought, clasping a pillow to his chest and curling around it. 

Why had Dean cancelled their sessions? Although gruff, Dean’s voice had been soft when he’d told him, which made Castiel wonder if Dean had thought he was doing him a favor of some kind. He’d even said “take a break,” as if Castiel had needed one. But Castiel hadn’t needed a break, and he hadn’t asked for one, and maybe he’d been in a sour mood at lunch, but that was just because he was worried about how quickly things were happening and how little time they had left. 

The other possibility, of course, was that Dean had done it because he hadn’t wanted to deal with Castiel when he was in a foul temper. The typical Buyer probably didn’t want to interact with an angry Seller after all when he or she was paying for someone to entertain them, and maybe Dean had just wanted to avoid him. 

It took Castiel hours to finally fall asleep, and even then it was fitful, dominated by dreams of Dean, his smile, his touch, the curl of his eyelashes and the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. Castiel was heartsore and confused and still so, so upset when he woke up, which wasn’t an excuse for what he did then, but it made the decision to rebel much easier than it would’ve been otherwise. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up to find himself grinding his erection against the mattress, but it was the first time that he didn’t stop as soon as he realized what he was doing, and he rubbed his face into his pillow, gripping the headboard as he began to thrust, images of Dean still flickering in front of his eyes.

He’d always tried to obey Dean’s orders, but maybe that was the problem. It’d gotten him to this point after all. Maybe he should stop trying to be good and see what being bad got him, he thought hazily, and he came with a deep groan, his hips stuttering against the bed.

Afterward, he felt horrible, the momentary pleasure swamped by an overwhelming shame. He quickly pushed down his boxers, wiping at the mess on his crotch with trembling hands, and stripped the sheets. 

He’d gone against one of Dean’s rules. Deliberately. Fuck.

And for what? A quick orgasm that he barely remembered, even though he’d just had it? To get back at Dean somehow? To get his attention? To show him he didn’t need his approval?

What was he going to tell Dean? Did he have to tell him? 

Yes, of course he did. Besides being in a legal contract, Castiel wouldn’t lower himself by lying or-or hiding it in the hopes that Dean never found out. How Dean was going to react though? He’d be so disappointed. 

The thought was nearly crippling.

Would he yell at Castiel? Refuse to let him come for the rest of the week? Decide he wasn’t worth the trouble?

Castiel sat down heavily on the bed, his legs feeling too weak to hold him. Would Dean cancel their contract?

No. He wouldn’t. Not for something this minor.

Not for having an orgasm when the whole previous week had revolved around controlling Castiel’s orgasms, denying him day after day and teasing him to the point of crying.

_Fuck._

Castiel was a wreck by breakfast, and he couldn’t stand it anymore, rasping out, “Could we go to the Service Room?” worms writhing in his stomach as he met Dean’s eyes. “I have something I need to say.”

Dean looked at him for a long moment before replying. “Okay,” he said, his voice sounding deeper than normal. “We’ll eat and then go. That alright with you?”

It wasn’t, but what was Castiel to do? So he nodded and sat down, shredding his toast and moving his eggs around as he waited for Dean to finish—not that Dean seemed to eat much either.

The worms had grown into snakes by the time they made it to the room, and the tight expression on Dean’s face wasn’t helping. Dean already looked angry, and Castiel hadn’t even told him anything yet.

It was habit to close the door, and he debated undressing, but this wasn’t a session, and if Dean were going to kick him out, he didn’t want to be naked when it happened. 

Dean folded his arms and waited, looking intimidating and unforgiving, and Castiel felt sick.

He took a deep breath, then another before he managed to say, “I masturbated this morning,” then bowed his head, waiting for Dean’s response.

There was a brief silence, then, “And?”

“And . . . what?” Castiel asked, glancing up.

“And what else?” Dean snapped, glaring at him, the muscles in his arms flexing noticeably. 

“There’s nothing else.” Wondering if maybe Dean hadn’t heard what he said, Castiel told him, “I woke up this morning and found that I’d been rubbing against the mattress in my sleep. Rather than stopping, I kept going until I orgasmed.” There. Now there could be no mistaking what he’d done. “I’m sorry,” he added belatedly. Pointlessly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean asked, his face darkening further.

Castiel raised his chin, pride all he had. “I realize that while masturbating isn’t technically in breach of our contract, it was one of your rules, and you specifically listed orgasm control as—”

“You’re serious,” Dean said, and Castiel could see the surprise on his face. Surprise, and the beginnings of mirth.

“I’m very serious,” Castiel said, and the anger that had been buried under his worry started to resurface. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Dean.”

Despite Castiel’s admonition, Dean started to smile. “Shit, I know, I know it’s not, it’s just, you walked in this morning looking like it was the end of the world and were all, ‘I have something to say to you,’ and I thought—”

Dean broke off his words, rubbing his face with his hand and looking embarrassed.

“You thought what?”

“Nothing. It’s—nothing.”

“What did you think?” Castiel demanded, knowing he had no right to ask but needing to know anyway.

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Tell me,” Castiel growled, grabbing Dean’s forearm, and Dean’s eyebrows rose up sharply.

“Let go,” Dean said, his voice dangerous. 

“ _Tell me_.”

“Let go _now_ ,” Dean said, his arm tensing, and Castiel finally realized what he was doing, yanking his hands back as if they were burning.

“My apolo—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean’s expression was hard, all sharp angles and shadows.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said miserably, the anger gone, leaving him hollow in its wake. 

“You’ve been—is this about yesterday?” 

He looked up at Dean, wondering if Dean was going to explain at last. “Yes,” he said cautiously, hope tinging his voice.

“What did Uriel say to you?” Dean asked, and it took a second for Castiel to understand, to realize Dean was talking about his interview, which, yes, that had started all of this, but wasn’t what had upset him to such a degree.

“It wasn’t Uriel,” Castiel said, his arms falling against his sides, too worn down to be anything but honest.

“Wait but then . . . what? It was _me_?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“What did I do?” Dean asked, looking as if he couldn’t possibly understand how he could be to blame, and how could he not know?

“You cancelled our sessions!”

“Why—why is that a bad thing? You were pissed off!” Dean protested, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. “You had that meeting with Uriel, and then you came out all, ‘don’t talk to me.’ I was trying to be _nice_!”

“I don’t want you to be nice!” Castiel said, and Dean’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Cas.”

“That’s not . . . that’s not what I meant,” Castiel said, holding up his hand and shaking his head.

“No?” Dean asked, and Castiel had the sudden urge to take a step back. “So what did you mean?” 

He stared at Dean, silent.

“What do you want, Cas?”

 _You_ , he thought, but he didn’t say it. “I don’t want you to cancel our sessions.”

“Because of the money?” Dean asked quietly. “Cause let me tell you, Cas, one session a day, two, three, none? It doesn’t matter. I’d still pay the same amount of money.”

“Only until you canceled our contract,” Castiel replied, even though it wasn’t about the contract, not anymore. He still needed the money, would continue to do so until all of Anna’s bills were paid, but the contract had nothing to do with his feelings.

“Why would I do that?” Dean slowly closed the distance between the two of them until there was barely any space left. It was all Castiel could do not to lean into him. “You want to know why I was so mad when we came in here?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue, his breath stirring the tiny hairs at Castiel’s temple. “What I was thinking?”

Castiel nodded jerkily, allowing the change in topic for the chance to get his answer.

“I thought you were going to say you wanted to leave.”

He leaned back, searching Dean’s expression for proof that he meant what he said, his heart pounding. It didn’t necessarily mean Dean felt anything for him beyond lust. But why else would he go to the effort of reassuring him? Why else would he care?

“I don’t want to leave,” he said, his voice raw.

“Good,” Dean said softly. “Good. I mean, don’t get me wrong. We’re going to talk about you getting off without permission,” Dean warned, but it was almost playful, and Castiel could feel the worry he’d been carrying around for the last day finally begin to ease. “But I’m going to keep you, Cas. For as long as I can.”

Castiel shivered and gave in to the urge to be close to Dean, clutching onto Dean’s shirt and resting his head on his shoulder as he whispered, “Yes.”

\-----

“So. You have two choices,” Dean said in what was quite a deja vu moment, looking remarkably cheerful considering they were discussing Castiel’s punishment.

Of course, that was probably _why_ he was so cheerful, Castiel thought darkly, and he frowned at the metal he could see peeking through Dean’s fingers. It wasn’t his normal cage, which didn’t bode well for him.

“What if I don’t want to choose?” Castiel asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well,” Dean drawled, “I’m a firm believer that every man should be able to decide his own path, so if you don’t want to choose, you don’t have to. Not choosing is also a choice, though, and in this case, that means we do both punishments, which I don’t think you’re going to enjoy half as much as I will.”

Castiel had no doubt that was true. “What are my options?”

“I’m so glad you asked that question, Cas. Behind door number 1 is this beauty right here,” Dean said, opening his hand and displaying a cock cage with—

“Are those spikes?” Castiel asked, his voice higher than normal.

“Why, yes, Cas. Yes, they are.” Dean smiled, white and blinding. “These are called Kali’s Teeth. As you can imagine, they keep you from getting an erection. And as you can also imagine, I’ll be doing everything I can to _give_ you an erection while you’re wearing this.” 

“What’s option number 2?” Castiel asked weakly, unable to stop staring.

“Number 2 is a spanking.”

“A spanking,” Castiel repeated when nothing else was forthcoming, his attention shifting to Dean.

“Yup. A plain, old-fashioned spanking. My hand; your ass.”

He could feel his cheeks getting hot at the very thought of it. “And there’s no way—there’s nothing I can do to—”

“To what? Get out of getting punished?” At Castiel’s nod, Dean rubbed his chin pensively. “Nope. This is happening, so just tell me which one you pick.”

Castiel swallowed, his throat clicking. “How long would I wear the cage?”

“Thirty minutes, same as always.”

“And how many times would you . . . ?” 

“What, spank you? Twenty, although the last five would probably be hard.”

He couldn’t help but ask, “How hard?”

“Pretty hard,” Dean said and winked.

Castiel ignored him, more concerned with making a decision. Dean hadn’t said anything about a time limit, but Castiel knew it had to exist anyway.

He didn’t want a spanking; he didn’t want the immediate pain or the potential soreness that would follow afterward. He _definitely_ didn’t want the spikes anywhere near his penis, however, which meant he had his answer.

“Option 2.”

“The spanking?” Dean asked, and Castiel couldn’t tell if he was happy or disappointed.

“Yes.”

“Well, alright then.” Dean set the cage on the nightstand and then clapped his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

“Right-right now?” Castiel asked, even though he’d expected it. He still didn’t feel prepared though.

“No time like the present!”

Dean arranged Castiel so his feet were on the ground and he was bent over the side of the bed, his forearms taking most of his weight. It reminded Castiel of their first session when Dean had rimmed him, as if he needed any more reasons to be hard when he was already mostly erect just from being in this room with Dean, his anxiety over what was going to happen apparently not enough to curb his body’s ignorant enthusiasm. 

“What’s your safeword, Cas?” Dean asked, and Castiel sucked in a quick breath before exhaling slowly. Even now, Dean was giving him his safeword.

“Herald,” he said, looking over his shoulder, and Dean nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Now, I’m betting you’re nervous, and you should be. This is going to hurt.” Dean smiled at Castiel’s expression. “But it’s not going to hurt _that_ much, Cas,” he said and rubbed the side of Castiel’s thigh. “It’s just my hand, and I’m not going to leave bruises. Okay?”

“Yes, Dean,” he said faintly.

“Good, then let’s get started. You look good like this, Cas,” Dean said, sliding his hand up Castiel’s thigh and across the top of his buttocks, and Castiel shivered, turning his head to stare down at the bed. He could imagine what he looked like, what Dean was seeing from his position, slightly behind Castiel and to his left. “We should do this more often.”

Castiel made a face. Not if he had anything to say about it.

The first strike was light, a quick slap to his right cheek that made Castiel twitch in surprise, even though he’d been expecting it. It was an indignity to be sure, but it wasn’t painful.

The second was in the same spot, and it was slightly harder. 

Castiel tensed when he felt Dean’s hand again, but it just brushed over his skin in a long, slow line, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“You’re already pinking up. Let’s see if we can spread that color around.”

He wasn’t ready for the next two hits, both to the underside of his ass, first one cheek, then the other, his flesh jiggling in response. His face burned, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot—freezing when he realized what that must be doing for Dean’s view.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Dean said mildly, and Castiel took in a shuddering breath. “No?” Dean asked, when Castiel still didn’t move. “Alright then, spread your legs a little more, Cas. More,” he ordered, and Castiel did.

Dean hummed happily, moving closer in between Castiel’s legs, and set his hands on Castiel’s buttocks, his thumbs tracing the vulnerable skin close to Castiel’s hole but not dipping in.

“I _really_ like you like this, Cas,” Dean said, squeezing gently before letting go.

Castiel closed his eyes at the unexpected compliment, at the warmth that bloomed in his chest. “Th-thank you, Dean,” he whispered.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Dean said, spanking him again, and Castiel wondered if he intended to keep getting more forceful with each hit. “We should do that next time, have you thank me after each one. What do you think, Cas? That was five by the way.”

Five—ah, five times. Fifteen to go. 

“I’d prefer there not be a next time,” he said, and he had no idea why it came out so wobbly.

“Really?”

Castiel’s knees buckled as something brushed against his erect cock. 

“You sure about that, Cas?” Dean asked, not giving him the chance to answer before he was spanking him again.

No, he wasn’t, heat flaring all over his skin—at the position, at the humiliation—and Castiel was grateful to not have the chance to think as the next set of five came in rapid succession with no breaks in between. By the end of it, he was trembling, his legs unsteady. 

He had no idea why he was reacting the way he was. Ten hits. That wasn’t very much, especially when Dean was being so careful with the amount of force he used. And yet.

He gave a hitching moan as Dean rubbed over hot skin, pressing into the touch as if Dean would make it better somehow—as if he weren’t the one wrecking him in the first place.

“Gorgeous,” Dean said, and Castiel whined in response, dropping his head onto his forearm and tilting his ass up higher. He had never thought about being spanked before and had been sure he would hate it. But here he was, and hate wasn’t the word he’d use to describe how he felt about it. What had Dean done to him? 

Dean spent a long time stroking his thighs, his buttocks, Dean’s hands moving in circles that both soothed and aroused as he skirted closer and closer to where Castiel wanted him before finally, grudgingly lifting off.

“I change my mind about the last five. These next ones are going to hurt, but the last five won’t be half as bad,” Dean said, and Castiel tried to nod, but he wasn’t sure he managed it, his body tensing in anticipation.

“Fuck!” Castiel gasped as Dean got him on the inside of his left thigh, and he didn’t mean to jerk away just as Dean was going for his right leg, but that had hurt a lot more than any of the previous blows, and his body tried to dodge without conscious thought. Only the tops of Dean’s fingers landed, which still stung, but not nearly to the same degree.

“Castiel,” Dean said, and it was only his name, but Castiel flinched nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his heart racing as he immediately fixed his posture back the way it’d been when they started. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Are you safewording?”

“No, Dean,” he said, frantically shaking his head, and meant it. The experience was turning out to be so different from what he’d expected, but he didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to give Dean another reason to be disappointed in him.

“Alright. I never said you couldn’t move, so I’m letting this one go,” Dean said, taking a handful of Castiel’s hair and using it to tilt his head back until they could look at each other, “but I’m saying it now: you stand there and take it. You understand, Cas?” he asked, his fingers tightening.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said, his voice a hoarse rasp, and the need to be good was almost overwhelming.

He mentally counted off the next three strikes as they alternated between his thighs, and he didn’t move, his legs trembling as he fought to stay still. 

“Yeah, Cas, fuck. Just like that,” Dean breathed, and Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a loud thump behind him, but it was nothing to how he felt when Dean’s mouth pressed against the very same spot he’d just hit.

Castiel’s erection had wilted from the last few blows—wilted, but not gone completely down. It came back full-force, however, when Dean started sucking a hickey into the back of his thigh.

“ _Dean_ ,” he gasped.

Dean covered him in biting kisses, changing the pain into something sharper, and when Dean licked a continuous line from one leg to the other, Castiel thought he was going to collapse.

“Fuck,” Dean said, rough and gravelly. “Fuck. You doing okay, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Any other answer was inconceivable.

“Good.” Dean rose to his feet, keeping one hand on Castiel. “Ready for the last ones?”

“Yes, Dean,” he said, struggling to slow his breathing.

“Just five more, then you’re done. I want you to do something for me, though, alright? I want you to spread your cheeks for me for these last ones,” Dean said, and Castiel only froze for a moment before he began to obey.

He closed his eyes and reached back. “Like this?” he asked shakily.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Just like that. I’m going to spank your hole now, Cas. Brace yourself.”

In the split second before Dean connected, Castiel almost used his safeword. He’d never been spanked before, but he’d suspected it was likely to happen sometime during the two weeks based on what Dean had asked for from Lordis. This, though . . . Dean had said these wouldn’t be half as bad as the previous ones, but half of a whole bunch was still a lot, and he honestly doubted his ability to stand it.

“One,” Dean said, just as the first blow landed, and Castiel, to his mortification, squeaked at the impact, his fingers twitching and, for a split second, spreading himself open even more. He flushed, the heat in his face matching the one emanating from his hole.

The only consolation he had was that it really _wasn’t_ half as bad as he’d thought it would be, even if it did smart. It was the _idea_ of what Dean was doing—was asking Castiel to do—that really affected him.

“Two.” 

Castiel rubbed his cheek against the bedspread, smothering the sound he made. 

Dean could have him bare one of the most vulnerable parts of himself and then abuse it, could do even this to him, and Castiel would let him.

“Three.”

 _Fuck._ Castiel squirmed, not trying to get away but unable to keep still. 

Not only let him but would gasp at each impact and flash of pain, would arch his back in readiness for the next one and feel . . . he would feel . . .

“Four.”

He sucked in a deep breath, his hole flexing over and over again, putting on a shameless display for Dean.

How had he never known that he could want something like this? How was that possible?

“Five.” 

He bit down on fabric to contain the noise he made then, everything throbbing in anticipation of something that wasn’t going to happen again, and he couldn’t understand how he was already missing the shock of impact followed by the flash of heat, the sting and pressure that lit up all his nerves.

[](http://s1077.photobucket.com/user/blue-jack/media/beestiels_dcbb_2015_art_02_small_zpsn3vpzvdv.jpg.html)

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, panting. “You really liked that.”

It wasn’t a question, so Castiel didn’t respond except to moan, humiliated and aroused down to his very bones. He grabbed the sheets now that they were done and he didn’t have to hold himself open anymore, hid his face in them, even if it wasn’t what Dean was currently looking at. 

He would’ve climbed onto the bed, but then he felt something cold drizzle onto him, his hole clenching in reaction, and he shuddered, staying where he was.

“You’re swollen a little bit,” Dean said, rubbing the lube in, and Castiel whimpered, wishing Dean would stop talking.

“I have to say, though, you’ve got a pretty, _pretty_ hole, Cas,” he said just before he breached him, making Castiel groan in a mixture of embarrassment and relief.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Cas?” Dean asked conversationally as he started up a slow rhythm that had Castiel humping back to meet Dean’s finger.

 _Yes,_ Castiel mouthed into the sheets, unable to say it out loud.

Dean pulled out.

“Yes!” Castiel gasped, lifting his head and twisting around to look back at Dean. “Yes, Dean, please.”

“I don’t know, Cas. Do you _really_ want it?” Dean asked, slowly sliding two fingers into him as Castiel whined. “I mean, you’ve been here a whole week and you haven’t asked me for it. That doesn’t really seem like a guy who’s hungry for cock.”

His face burned. “Please, Dean,” Castiel whispered, canting his hips in order to get Dean deeper.

“Yeah, I think we’re going to have to get that dildo out again.” Dean started rubbing against his prostate, and Castiel shuddered helplessly. “You can show me how much you want the real thing. If you can’t come from getting fucked, then you just don’t want it bad enough.”

“Dean,” he gasped, pushing back. “Dean.”

“Uh uh,” Dean said, pulling out and smacking Cas lightly on his right cheek, making him jump. “You’re going to have to show me next time.”

“Dean—”

“Put your legs together, Cas,” Dean said, and Castiel looked back at him, confused. He did what Dean wanted, though, even if he didn’t understand why he wanted it.

“Keep them closed.” Dean slicked himself up, and for a minute, Castiel thought maybe Dean was planning to fuck him after all, except when Dean stood behind him, he didn’t put any pressure against his hole but—

Dean hissed as he slid his cock in between Castiel’s thighs. “Yeah, nice and tight.”

Dean’s cock rubbed against where Dean had spanked him, and Castiel bit his lip at the friction—tasted blood when Dean took his cock in his hand. 

It felt hotter than normal, and Castiel realized it was the hand Dean had used to spank him. If fucking his thighs felt anything like fucking Dean’s hand, then no wonder Dean wanted to do it.

“You took that spanking so well,” Dean said as he started to thrust, nudging against the back of Castiel’s balls, and fuck, Castiel’s eyelids fluttered from the pleasure. “You going to be just as good with the dildo, aren’t you, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” he panted, trying to match his rhythm to Dean’s, but he was too close; he couldn’t maintain it.

“You’re going to prove to me how much you want my cock,” Dean said, thrusting harder and shoving Castiel forward in the process, and Castiel gasped, “Yes, Dean,” before coming all over the side of the bed.

\-----

Something changed from that point on. For him and for Dean.

Castiel felt grounded afterward, more secure in himself. He’d been so uncertain about whether he could do the things Dean wanted of him, but now he knew that not only could he do them, he could enjoy them as much if not more than Dean did. It was a revelation, and maybe he’d never considered such things before, but now he couldn’t imagine never experiencing them again.

As for Dean, he became much more relaxed after the spanking. Dean began to include him in whatever he was doing, be it working in the garage or taking advantage of the pool table in the basement and the various game consoles Dean had lying around. He even invited him into his work area, a room off the garage that Castiel hadn’t noticed during his initial tour, and Castiel finally found out what Dean did for a living. To a degree.

“I make stuff,” Dean said, shrugging, as Castiel turned around slowly, taking in all the computers and pieces of machinery that covered the tables.

“What kind of ‘stuff?’” Castiel asked, studying what looked to be the beginnings of a robot maybe, or perhaps something for carrying things around, he thought, taking in the track of wheels at the bottom.

“Stuff stuff. Whatever gets me going.” Dean slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Do you work for a company?” he asked, trying to understand what field Dean specialized in.

“Not anymore. I had a couple of patents that did okay, so now I work for myself.”

Patents. “I see.”

Castiel was tempted to ask if he’d likely ever seen one of Dean’s inventions, but Dean had been purposefully vague, so he decided not to pursue it. It was enough for now that Dean was opening up to him, and Castiel was glad of the opportunity to learn more about him, treasured the fact that Dean was _letting_ him know and what that meant for them. 

As the days passed, Dean even began touching him outside of the Service Room—laying his hand against Castiel’s back, or casual squeezing on his shoulder, or pulling Castiel close when they watched a movie—and he soon stopped calling Castiel anything but “Cas.”

As for the sex, it remained as intense as ever.

“C’mon, Cas, you’re not trying hard enough!”

“Please, Dean,” Castiel gasped, shoving the dildo in harder. He was so close, _so_ close, but he still hadn’t managed to come from just fucking himself.

“I thought you wanted my cock.”

“I do—”

“Don’t you want me to fuck you?’

Castiel sobbed, straining to reach orgasm. “ _Please_.”

Dean put his hands on his hips and sighed. 

“You’ve got to take advantage of all the tools you have, Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head, right before he reached out and cruelly twisted Castiel’s nipple.

While it was true that Dean had shown him he enjoyed attention to his nipples, Castiel had never tried to play with them during one of their sessions. It felt good, but it wasn’t something he’d ever needed before, and it would’ve been too much effort to coordinate both his hands when he was so focused on his prostate. 

So he was shocked when Dean abusing his nipple immediately catapulted him over the edge, and he could hear himself making a series of humiliating grunts and moans that he couldn’t control no matter how hard he tried as he spasmed around the dildo, the come spraying out of his trapped cock in what started off as the most uncomfortable orgasm of his life but quickly changed as it went on and on, the pleasure lasting far longer than anything he’d experienced before. He would’ve collapsed onto the bed if Dean hadn’t grabbed him and held him up, and he let out a high-pitched whine when Dean took up where he’d left off, thrusting the dildo into him, as if he were determined to force out every last drop of come.

“Dean,” he panted, not sure if he should try to hang on or push Dean away. “ _Dean_.”

“I’m not stopping until you make me come, Cas,” Dean said, and it didn’t matter how oversensitized he was; the rush that Castiel felt when Dean told him that was almost as good as another orgasm. It was nothing, however, compared to the satisfaction he felt when Dean actually came, the proof of Castiel’s success splashing across his fist.

Castiel couldn’t say why getting Dean to come, even when he didn’t get to himself, pleased him so much, but it did. Not that he didn’t continue to beg for release, because begging had become a constant part of his life, but it was easier to bear when he satisfied Dean, easier to believe Dean when he told him he was so good for him.

Dean said it a lot actually, during sex and after, and Castiel had begun to _need_ to hear to it, wanting his approval more than he could’ve imagined at the beginning of all of this. 

He wanted so much from Dean, and he dreaded the knowledge that their time would soon be over. 

Four more days. That was all they had until he left. Would Dean ask for him again? They hadn’t discussed it yet, and Castiel didn’t know what the convention was for finding out. As the Buyer, was Dean supposed to mention it? Or should Castiel raise the issue himself? Did he really care who brought the subject up as long as one of them did?

He was so tired of trying to live by the restrictions of being a Seller instead of a—boyfriend, or lover. If Castiel had been in a regular relationship, he wouldn’t have hesitated to ask questions, but he wasn’t, and it was frustrating to tiptoe around what he should and shouldn’t do. Maybe he should just start treating Dean the way he _wanted_ to treat him and see if that got him anywhere.

It was with that thought in mind that Castiel finally found the courage to ask, “Why did you become a Buyer, Dean?” after one of their sessions while they were lying together, because he’d wondered why such a handsome, kind man would need help finding someone to love.

Dean let out a long sigh. “I was just . . . I was just tired, I guess. I’ve never been too lucky with the people I fell in love with. My first girlfriend Cassie didn’t understand anything about BDSM, and you know, neither did I, but when I tried to figure it out with her, she decided she couldn’t handle it. Lisa was in the scene, but she wanted more than I could give her, and I kept feeling like I was failing at taking care of her.”

From everything he’d been learning about Dean, Castiel suspected that that would’ve bothered him a lot. It would’ve eaten at Dean until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“There was this one guy that I thought might actually be the one, but Sam—he’s my younger brother—was moving out here for law school, and Benny couldn’t leave his place, and after a while, you just start thinking maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re just not cut out for a real relationship.” Dean shrugged, and Castiel stroked his arm reassuringly. “I tried hooking up at clubs, but that got old pretty quick, and well, I decided to give Lordis a try. What about you? What made you decide to become a Seller?”

“My sister,” Castiel said and told him about Anna. “I couldn’t leave her with all that debt. She’s still recovering, and I didn’t want her to bear that burden on top of everything else.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean said, pressing his mouth to Castiel’s temple. His voice was rough when he said, “That’s . . . not a lot of people would do that. You’re a good brother. You—” He didn’t finish whatever it was he’d been saying, but he didn’t let go of Castiel either, not for a long time afterward.

That night, instead of taking Castiel to the Service Room, Dean opened the door to his bedroom. There was nothing particularly special about it in that it looked very similar to all the other rooms Castiel had seen. It was Dean’s, though, and that made all the difference. There were photos on the nightstand and dresser that Castiel itched to see, a record player with a pile of records next to it, a—

“Come here, Cas,” Dean said, and Castiel went to him.

\-----

Castiel was beginning to wonder if he’d ever be able to come from the dildo all by himself. Dean had informed him that it didn’t count if he had to step in, but no matter how much Castiel bounced on the dildo while tugging at his own nipples, he still hadn’t been able to do it. 

He was starting to bitterly resent Dean, the dildo, and all the porn he’d seen that had encouraged unrealistic expectations for the common man. What made it worse was that Dean had decided to “help” by refusing to milk him. How giving him the worst case of blue balls in the history of the world was helping him, Castiel didn’t know, but Dean wouldn’t budge.

“Give me a show, Cas,” Dean said from his chair at the foot of the bed as Castiel climbed onto the mattress. “I want to see how much that dildo stretches you out.”

Castiel interpreted that to mean he should face the wall, and he took a fortifying breath to calm his stomach before he put his back to Dean. Shame always took a backseat to desire during their sessions, but getting started continued to be daunting.

He didn’t need to prepare himself very much with considering all the things he did to himself for Dean’s pleasure, and it wasn’t long before he was hissing as he sunk down onto the dildo.

“You’ve got the sweetest ass,” Dean said, and Castiel faltered for a second, before starting to ride the toy, his face flaming. He still wasn’t accustomed to Dean’s dirty mouth, and it took him by surprise sometimes how much he liked it. “I can’t wait to feel it around my cock.”

Castiel bit his lip, not for the first time imagining how good it’d feel to have Dean inside of him. He started rolling his nipple in time with his thrusts. His hand was still slippery from slicking the dildo, so he had to make up for it by squeezing his nipple in sharp little pulses as he thought of how thick Dean was, of much it’d burn as he took what he wanted, filling Castiel further than anything or anyone he’d had before. 

His ass clenched at the thought, and Castiel wondered . . . 

He’d tried everything else he could think of at this point to make himself come. What harm was there in trying this?

“Cas,” Dean gasped, and Castiel shivered at the sound of it. “Cas, what are you doing?” he asked, as if he couldn’t see Castiel pushing the tip of one finger into himself alongside the dildo.

“I’m—” He swallowed, trying to adjust to the new intrusion, as his cock throbbed in its metal prison. “I’m imagining what it’d be like if you— _oh_ ,” he said as he slid further inside. He squirmed.

“If I what?” Dean asked, sounding destroyed.

“If you fucked me,” Castiel said breathily, experimentally moving the dildo and shuddering as a result. Why hadn’t he ever done this before? It felt amazing.

“That’s—holy fuck, Cas,” Dean said, closer than he’d been before, and Castiel bent further at the waist to give him an even better view, blushing furiously but doing it anyway. The cage was almost a reassuring weight against his thigh.

The new position made it difficult to do much, and Castiel had to content himself with tiny thrusts that weren’t very satisfying, but it was worth it for the way Dean sucked in his breath, for the dip in the mattress that meant Dean had gotten closer still.

“Are you thicker than this, Dean?” Castiel withdrew his finger, twitching at the loss. “Should I add more?” he asked, rubbing two fingers against his skin where it met the dildo, although he didn’t think he could add both. Not this time at least.

“Shit,” Dean breathed, and then his fingers were there as well, and Castiel’s breath stuttered in his throat. “Lean forward, Cas,” he said, and Castiel put his hands down on the bed, thought better of how weak his arms felt and went down to his elbows.

“Yeah, just like that, Cas.”

He heard the jingle of Dean’s belt followed by the sound of a zipper, and he arched his back, offering himself for whatever Dean wanted to do to him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Dean gasped, and ridiculously, it made Castiel start to tear up—he didn’t think he’d cried so much in his entire life as he had with Dean. Dean hadn’t called him that since the first time he’d put on the cage, however, and hearing it now meant so much more now than it had then.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, his voice choked.

He moaned when Dean pulled the dildo out, felt how his ass tried and failed to completely close and moaned even louder.

Dean nudged Castiel’s left thigh with his denim-clad knee, and Castiel obediently spread his legs wider to allow Dean between them. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whispered, sliding one hand down Castiel’s thigh and making him shiver. 

He heard the click of the lube cap.

“Don’t move, Cas,” Dean said right before he pressed the head of his cock against Castiel’s hole.

“D-Dean?” he asked, the muscle flexing as Dean leaned in.

“Don’t move,” Dean said again, pulling back. “Fuck, don’t move,” he whispered as he did it again.

This was a new brand of torture, and it had Castiel whimpering in seconds.

“Dean, please.”

“I just want to see.” Dean slipped in a little further, and Castiel whined, his hands clutching the sheet. He knew Dean would draw it out, would tease him with the promise of fucking him, only to pull back at the last second, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being so close to what he wanted, only to be denied. He shoved his hips back before he could second-guess himself, and they both groaned as the head popped fully inside.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, but Castiel wasn’t listening. 

Fuck, Dean was big, fuck, _fuck_. He felt lightheaded for a second.

“Cas?”

He took a deep breath, then another, waiting for the pain to dim. He should’ve probably gone slower, but he couldn’t regret it. Dean was inside of him. That was worth a lot more pain than this.

“ _Cas_.”

“I’m sorry, but I need—” Castiel pushed back, slowly taking more.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean whispered.

It took a while for Castiel to bottom out. He’d never taken so much before, and he had to pause several times, shivering as he leaned forward for a second before trying again. It never became comfortable, but it did start to feel good in its own way, being stretched so wide, knowing he was taking Dean all the way in. 

“Okay?” Dean asked when Castiel was pressed firmly against his groin, and Castiel could hear the growl in his voice, evidence of the control he was exerting to let Castiel get used to him.

“Yes, Dean,” he said throatily, feeling lightheaded from being stuffed so full and the sense of rightness that accompanied it.

“Do you need to stop?”

“No, Dean,” he said, clenching around him, wondering if his body would ever be the same after having Dean inside him. “Please, no.”

 

“Alright.” Dean’s hands clasped Castiel’s hips, and Castiel tensed involuntarily, not sure he was ready for Dean to go fast, but he needn’t have worried. Dean kept the same slow, careful pace that Castiel had set, holding him against him for a moment before beginning each long slide back, grinding into Castiel at the end of each stroke as Castiel grunted and shook, his pleasure laced with an edge of pain from how deep Dean was inside of him. He felt speared on Dean’s cock, and he didn’t want it to end.

“You feel so good, Cas,” Dean panted, still keeping to those precise thrusts. “You’re so good,” he said, and Castiel let himself get lost in his words and the sensation of Dean filling him completely.

He didn’t think much of it when he started to feel the pleasure start to grow. He’d spent his whole time with Dean playing a game of hide-and-seek with orgasm, and he knew it was nigh impossible for him to come from fucking alone.

Except it didn’t plateau the way it always did, kept building instead, and Castiel opened unseeing eyes in a panic when the familiar prickle started up his spine. 

“Dean,” he gasped, knowing he needed to move away in order to give himself time to calm down, but his body refused to obey him, arching up higher instead, desperate for the release he’d been hunting for days.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, but he didn’t stop, didn’t stop and actually started to pick up speed instead, the change making him feel _massive_ and relentless, and fuck, _fuck_.

“I’m going to—” Castiel whined, high and panicked when Dean rolled over his prostate all too accurately. 

“What are you going to do?” Dean asked, thrusting hard once, twice, making Castiel curl up in surprise at the pain a bit, but it didn’t decrease his urgency, somehow ratched it even higher.

“I need to come.” His whole body tensed tighter and tighter as he fought to keep from tipping over, but he couldn’t disappoint Dean; he wouldn’t. “Please, may I—”

“Are you going to come on my cock?” Dean asked, delivering a series of devastating thrusts that left Castiel shaking, clawing for control.

“ _Dean_ ,” he pleaded, unable to say anything other than Dean’s name.

“Fuck, c’mon then. Come, Cas.”

He had no idea if Dean said anything more after that, because his ears were filled with buzzing, Dean’s hands and body all that kept him anchored as he suffered through the most intense throes of pleasure he’d ever felt. It just went on and on as he twitched and thrashed on the bed, every thrust drawing sounds of him that he’d never heard himself make before.

Dean was still fucking him when he came down from his orgasm. 

Castiel moaned questioningly, his limbs sliding sluggishly across the sheets. 

“Fuck, Cas, you’re so good. So good,” Dean panted, and it was like he was speaking from miles away. It took Castiel a moment to register to the words, but once he did, he felt suffused with pleasure, different from seconds before but just as fulfilling in its own way, more so even.

“Coming like that, showing me how much you love being fucked,” Dean said, thrusting in hard, and Castiel spasmed, sucking in a gasp of air. He was sensitive after just coming, the sensations teetering on the edge of pain without quite falling over. Normally, he didn’t enjoy penetration after coming, but it was as if his body had decided one orgasm wasn’t enough after being denied for so long, as if it wanted to get all that it could while it still had the chance, and he could already feel his excitement mounting.

“I want to see it again,” Dean said, going faster pulling out and twisting Castiel’s hips so he was more on his side before shoving back in. It all happened so fast that Castiel only had time to whine—strangling on the sound when Dean filled him up again, his back bowing. 

“Can you do that for me?” Dean asked, snapping his hips forcefully, abandoning the slow, methodical pace from before now that Castiel was fucked open.

“Yes, Dean,” he whispered and gave himself over to it, to Dean, with a supplicating moan.

\-----

“What is with you and the staring?” Dean mumbled into his pillow.

“My apologies,” Castiel said, starting to shift away.

“Uh uh, too late.” A strong arm snaked around Castiel’s waist, tugging him closer. “I’m awake now, so you’re stuck here.”

Castiel smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. He wished that were true, but this was his last day with Dean, and according to Lordis’ rules, it’d be a month before they could see each other again, and that was only assuming Dean asked to renew their contract, something Dean had never specifically said he would do. 

Castiel wanted to ask, had planned to ask, but he hadn’t in the end. It felt too much like begging, and while he’d grown accustomed to begging for sex, he couldn’t do it for this. It was too important.

“Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Dean said, and Castiel turned away.

“Cas,” Dean said, putting a hand on Castiel’s arm. “What is it?” 

“It’s nothing. I just . . . wasn’t expecting what it would feel like to finish our contract,” Castiel said, which was true as far as it went, although it barely touched on the turmoil he was feeling. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It is kind of weird, isn’t it?”

Weird? That didn’t even begin to cover it. He thought of a month of waiting, of trying to have faith, only to hear nothing in the end, to have Mrs. Dunham call him and ask him if he wanted to find another Buyer.

Castiel felt like he was breaking.

He couldn’t let Dean know that, however, not when he had no idea how Dean felt about him. But he couldn’t walk away without saying something, either.

“I care about you a great deal, Dean,” Castiel said quietly, not meaning to reveal too much, but his voice betrayed him, too raw for there to be any doubt as to how much.

“Is that what—you think I don’t? Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, pulling back and staring him straight in the eyes. “I went into this thinking I’d find someone who could give me what I wanted, no strings attached, and I did everything I could to make sure it stayed that way: appointments for sex, keeping my distance—”

“You would’ve been better off not asking for a full-time Seller then, or at least not isolating me so that the only person I had to talk to was you.”

“Maybe.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Probably. But it’s too easy to fake it if you’re only meeting up once a week. It’s not something I _do_ , Cas, it’s something I _am_. I don’t want a Seller who puts up with it; I want someone who wants it just as much I do, and I couldn’t take the chance that you’d have friends who would tell you to ‘Think about the money!’ or say, ‘It’s only two weeks!’ This turned out better than anything I’d hoped for. Seeing the way you responded to the spanking, the way you _wanted_ it, I just . . . I knew that it was real for you too. And once I saw that . . .” Dean said, his expression softening. “I care about you, Cas. I care a hell of a damn lot.”

Castiel nodded jerkily, wanting to believe but all too aware that things could change over a month.

Dean sighed. “C’mon. Let me make you some breakfast before you go.”

The rest of their time together passed by in a blur, and then Dean was walking him to the door. Castiel had brought his own car, and that was how he was going to leave.

“See ya, Cas,” Dean whispered against his temple, his arms strong and sure around him, and Castiel wanted to believe it was a promise.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel said, his voice cracking, and lifted his head for a kiss.

—

_Epilogue_

“Billing office. This is Eileen.”

“Hello, Eileen,” Castiel said, rubbing the edge of his credit card. Mrs. Dunham had called to let him know he’d received the $1,000 tip. He’d tried to be more excited about the news, but it was difficult to show the proper level of appreciation when the call reminded him that it’d be weeks before he could see Dean again. If he saw him at all. “I’d like to make a payment toward my bill.”

“Sure, do you have your account number?”

He waited while she brought up his information.

“Oh. Huh. It looks like your bill has been paid in full.”

“Excuse me? That can’t be right,” Castiel said, frowning, pushing the phone a little closer against his ear as if that would make sense of her words. “I had over $68,000 left.”

“Hmm.” He could hear her typing. “Ah, it says here that someone called on Sunday and made an anonymous donation—”

“Someone? Who?’

“I’m afraid I can’t release that information,” she said, sounding regretful. 

“But . . .” Dean. It could only be Dean. No one else he knew had that kind of money. But why would he do that? Nearly _$70,000._ Castiel had known Dean was rich, but no one threw money around like that, not unless—

Unless what? 

_I care about you, Cas. I care a hell of a damn lot._

But Dean hadn’t said anything about renewing their contract! And with Anna’s bills paid, Castiel wouldn’t even _have_ to go back to Lordis. There’d be no reason to except—

Except to see Dean.

“Thank you. I have to go,” he said and didn’t wait for a reply before hanging up and racing toward the door.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find beestiel's amazing art on her [tumblr](http://beestiels.tumblr.com/post/133107678203/my-first-ever-dcbb-masterpost-this-is-the-art-i). Please make sure to give her all the likes and reposts!


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